


Sourcebloods in the Lost Lands

by Mieper



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Divinity: Original Sin (Video Games), Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game), Warhammer Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24771454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mieper/pseuds/Mieper
Summary: Source. Immense power for those who poses it, and a grave danger The Old World, the Lost Lands and Yharnam have for a long time felt its touch, and by it, they are connected, and thtough it and the actions of some, travel between world becomes possible. As could be forseen, conflict is not far behind.(Crossover fic featuring chars from Bloodborne, Warhammer Fantasy and Divinity set largely in the Lost Lands pathfinder setting. I could not come up with decent titles and summaries if my life depended on it. Hope you enjoy it anyway)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Awakening

Power. An amount of it almost impossible to comprehend, even for the creature currently staring at it. A vast stream of Source, so vast that to try and absorb it all would mean death even for a god. Many had sought to do so anyway, blinded by avarice, hope or arrogance.

The creature knew better than to try. And it was not necessary to absorb it anyway. Just a few guiding touches would do what was needed. The river crossed between the worlds, it only took a little nudge to make sure it took something with it. Plans in mind, the creature began to work. It had no real form, just the imprint of a mind resolved to do what it felt like. Of course, most onlookers would have considered this action to be monstrously dangerous, and they would not have been wrong. They would have called the creature mad to even attempt this, and madder by a large margin to do so for seemingly no reason but amusement.

The creature smiled internally at the thought. It made the whole affair so much more entertaining, and watching how those who believed themselves righteous would react to it would be a greater pleasure still.

Slowly gently, the Source river shifted its path along this short part of its immeasurable length. It was almost impossible to even see the change after it had been made, yet the results would be magnificent. Quietly chuckling, the creature withdrew its presence back to the material world. Time to wait, lay back and enjoy the carnage.

* * *

They entered the room in a group, side by side, weapons in hand. Proper stealth was impossible without cover, and to try sneaking up on this prey would have been pointless either way. Enough of their kind had tried to make their way through the Astral Clocktower, and when none had not come back, the Hunters had grouped together. An unusual thing in these days, their ranks ever thinner stretched, but the secrets of the tower warranted the gathering of such a strike force.  
  
On their right, two haggard figures in mismatched gear, one holding Beast Cutter and blunderbuss, the other a Cainhurst pallasch and the bulky shape of a flamesprayer. On the left thing, three in the robes of church personnel, holding the trifecta of classic weapons of that order: The monstrous shape of a Kirkhammer, the silver imitation of Ludwig's old sword, and the scythe-like form of a church warpick. Slightly behind both groups and between those stood their leader, wearing the iconic hunter garments, cane whip and twin pistol held at the sides.  
  
The hunting party entered the room in grim silence, fanning out slightly, all attention focused on the single figure on the far side of the room. From the blood all over the floor and walls, and their own brutal experience, they knew better than to underestimate even a single foe. Or so they hoped at least.  
  
"I cannot let you pass. I have sworn to guard this passage until my last breath, and I must keep that vow", the lone figure said, voice free of any malice.  
  
"Yet we have sworn to end this nightmare, no matter the cost. For this, we need to pass, and since neither of us will step aside, this must end in blood." The leader and the lone figure locked eyes for just a moment, a sad sense of understanding in the eyes of both.  
  
A few seconds of silence, broken only by the sounds of gloved hands tightening around weapons.  
  
Then the carnage began.  
  
The hunter with the flamesprayer was the first to move, raising her terrible weapon to end this quickly. Instead, her life was snuffed out when the bullet from an elegant pistol tore off the left side of her skull. The party charged, and their lone opponent charged too.  
  
It was a blur of steel, too quick for untrained eyes to follow and punishing even for the veterans involved. A holy blade and a beast cutter hit the floor, their wielders skewered by a dagger and decapitated by a sabre. A dying man's hand pulled the trigger of a blunderbuss, and the lone fighter was hurled back. Screaming a curse, one the living churchman brought his kirkhammer down and shattered the sabre's blade. Within a blink, the broken weapon was sheathed in his throat, just as a dagger sliced through the cane whip and let broken links join the sprays of blood.  
  
Even with four of their number dead, the hunters pressed on. While none of them had landed a killing blow, their prey had bled too. With the pick wielder keeping the wounded target busy, their leader jumped forward, rolling under his prey's cover as he grabbed the fallen Holy Blade and jammed it into the belly of his prey, the silvered steel sinking in to the hilt.  
  
Still, this prey would not die. With a leap far beyond human ability, the melee was broken up. Echoing the leader's action, the prey picked up a fallen weapon, and as surviving church warrior turned to chase, the gun build into the pallasch was emptied into his chest. A futile reflex, perhaps, for that shot was it, the prey had used up all reserves, unable to rise from hands and knees, let alone reload a firearm. The sword to the gut had proven to much. Once more, the room was largely silent, except for ragged breathing of the two creatures still alive and the dripping of splattered gore.  
  
A click broke it, and the prey looked up. For a second time, the good hunter and Maria shared that look of understanding, for despite the viciousness of their battle, they held no ill will towards each other.  
  
The masked hunter gave his dying enemy a slight bow as he rose his sidearm and pulled both triggers.

* * *

  
  
Lady Maria of Cainhurst had not expected to wake up again. In fact, she had hoped she never would. The nightmare was her penance, one she had not wanted to escape, and thought to be impossible to escape from. In a moment of weakness some time ago, she a had taken a knife to her wrist to make the attempt, yet even fatal wounds had not set her free. Yet when she opened her eyes now, she could instantly tell this was not the nightmare. There was no hint of screaming in the background, no constant sense of dread and suffering. Still, there was something in the air that made her wary, something telling her hunter instincts that danger was close.  
  
She got on her feet and quickly scanned her surroundings. Twisted, sickly trees all around the small clearing where she had awoken. No sign of any living creature, just an unnerving, unnatural quiet. What she did notice was an unknown, biting smell, something like a mixture of blood and sulphur.  
  
Sensing no immediate danger, she took a quick look at herself. In addition to the mysterious disappearance of her lethal injuries, whatever had occured to her had also fixed up her attire, her clothes both undamaged and clean. Yet not everything had been restored, as her broken Rakuyo had not been brought back. The dagger was still still there, next to where her left hand had been on the ground, and the pallasch was lying a few meters to her right, while her empty pistol was still in its holster. She checked all three weapons, both to be ready for danger and to distract herself from the assault of the questions she no answers for.  
  
A growl from the trees made her spin on her heels, blade and freshly loaded pistol in hands. The sound was loud, piercing and all too familiar, reverberating through the air with ancient, furious malevolence. A moment later, another voice picked up the growl, only for a third creature to hiss in an obvious challenge.  
  
Maria did not wait for the beasts to come to her. She was a hunter, armed and trained to turn monsters into prey. So she advanced towards the sounds, preternaturally silent even in the undergrowth. Maybe fifty meters ahead, the growling was now far more active, and again a hiss answered the challenge. Few seconds later, a growl turned into a pained howl, and her ears picked up on the familiar wet sound of a blade tearing flesh.  
  
Bursting through the treeline on the edge of another clearing showed a sight dishearteningly similar to what happened in Yharnam. Two massive creatures, wolf-like except for an almost humanoid posture, had attacked a tall man in black plate armor. Yet they seemed to have met more than their match, though the thought to retreat seemed escape their mind. One of them was already dead, limbs removed and body carved open by brutal, well placed strikes. Just as she raised her pistol at the second creature, it howled its last and collapsed into a twitching heap, its chest sliced wide open and blood splashing all over the place.  
  
Its killer turned to face her, and she brought her gun up. His face was twisted, his mouth opened wider than humanly possible to show a row of sharp predator teeth, his eyes glowing crimson.  
  
At first, she could not tell what made her hesitate. This man had obviously become a beast too, to give him a quick death would be both a mercy and necessary to protect herself. It took a moment for her to see what did not add up. It was his posture, the way the man held his weapon. While many a beast could for a time remember how to use weaponry, it was always in a blind frenzy, without strategy or finesse. The man she saw had no sign of such berserk rage, or any aggression towards her at all, even with his fangs bared, he held his sword completely still, maintaining a high guard position. More details broke the usual image: No growth of fur, no stretched limbs. As if to hammer home the absurdity of the scene, the man calmly rose his free hand and flame burst from his fingers in preparation of some offensive magic, without unleashing it. Not sure what any of this meant and how it was related to her own unexplained appearance in this place, she merely kept herself ready, keeping her pistol trained on his head.  
  


* * *

  
It had been an utterly miserable day. In the countless years he had walked the earth, he had seen many wonderous and terrible things. Ancient magics, monsters beyond description, heroes that had become legends. Yet for all the callousness he had aquirred in his years and the wealth of knowledge he had spend so much reaching, he could neither stop his own grief nor explain his current situation, and both experiences were something Vlad von Carstein had no desire to endure.  
  
He had died in Altdorf. Not for the first time in his existence, and given the danger of the world, likely not the last. Of course, the theft of his ring had complicated matters, but he had been confident that even without the artefact, he would have clawed his way back into the living world within a decently short timeframe. Yet instead of retreating and preserving the strength of Sylvania for future wars, or working towards his return, his underlings must have promptly turned to infighting and treachery, or maybe they had fallen like dominos.

 _And Isabella_...  
  
The memory hurt more than the stakes at the foot of the damned wall had. She had died by her own hand upon seeing his death, unaware of his likely return. It had been an act he had felt even beyond the veil of death.

Turning her had been a mistake. Isabella did never possess the strength of will to truly master her state, and the dangers that came with it. But since he had truly loved her, he had ignored this knowledge when her mortal body had begun to fail. Yet the power of undeath had been to much for her mind, and all his affection did nothing to change that fact. Another thought he quickly banished. Too much pain there.  
  
He had channeled his grief into wrath and clawed and clawed at the veil, his soul using all the knowledge from Nagash's book and his own research, grasping every little sliver of power to break through into the living world once more. He had felt how close he had been. It was the only way, to do anything else would see him succumb to grief and lose the will needed to keep existing. And then, by means he could not explain, he had awoken in this place, some forest he had never seen, in the state he had awoken the night of his latest death. His magic had given him no answers here, and the winds of magic in this locale were so calm to the point of it being downright worrying in its contrast to normal. To make matters worse, his trail had been picked up by these two humanoid dire wolves. An annoyance rather than a real threat, he had dispatched of both in suitably brutal fashion, for these were not Ulric's Children, no matter the similarities in appearance. Killing them had let to the current dilemma.  
  
The woman had closed in with remarkable skill, audible only a few steps before she had found her position. She was still there, a long barreled pistol aimed at his face, her right hand holding a fine blade. He had to commend her calm. It took a hardened heart to face his more feral side in combat, in fact, him unleashing that side had put fear into the hearts of veteran soldiers. Yet this woman showed no hint of terror, just the cold, calculating expression of a professional killer on her beautiful features.  
  
And she was a beauty. Her face was worthy of being any artist's masterpiece, her hair an elegant cascade of snow falling down to her back. The dark, practical attire, eerily similar to the garments of the Witch Hunters of the Empire, suited her perfectly, underlining the grace and deadliness of the lady wearing it. She was a lady of high, that much he could tell from a glance at her posture, and the same was true for the danger she posed. Her body was tensed up like a spring, ready to pounce at a moment's notice.  
  
Even though he was still confident in his abilities, he had no desire to fight this woman. Not knowing this place and how it might otherwise differ from his home, taking chances might be a fatal mistake. Not to mention that he had no quarrel with this one.  
  
So he forced his monstrous features back, and closed the hand that had kept the fireball ready in full view of the woman, before slowing lowering Blood Drinker a little. Even if she took the chance and fired, a pistol would hardly be enough to seriously injure him. He hoped.  
  
Slowly and with some hesitation, she lowered the gun, her calculating eyes unmoving all the while.  
  
 _One step at a time_ , he thought as he sheathed his sword. Again, there was a slight delay before she mirrored the action. Every movement purposefully slow, Vlad stepped towards the woman, extending his right hand in a gesture of greeting he hoped to be suitably universal.  
  


* * *

  
Matching the slow, cautious movements of the stranger, Maria took the offered hand. Only the curiosity of the situation overruled her instincts, and she found herself waiting for a sudden attack, unsure whether she even wanted to resist. After all, she had for a long time wanted to die. Yet no such attack came. Instead, the man lifted up her hand and leaned forward, putting the hint of a kiss on the back of her glove before releasing her and stepping back.  
  
Bemused and a little surprised by the chivalry on display, she took a closer look at the man. The armor was the first thing to stick out, black full plate with some gilded elements and a heavy cloak trimmed with bear fur. In Yharnam, such armor had fallen out of use more than a century ago, its protection almost useless against the strength of the beasts and the power of more advanced firearms. Only some Executioners still wore it, their ogre-like stature allowing for plating so thick that even large beasts struggled to pierce it. His weapon had been equally old fashioned, a bastard sword with no hint of workshop influence, though of apparently exquisite craftsmanship.  
  
The man had pale skin, about as white as her own. Eyes now of amber colour rather than their previous red looked at her with what appeared to be honest curiosity. A handsome, angular face framed by a mane of black hair.  
  
"Darf ich nach eurem Namen fragen, werte Dame?"

It was the voice of born demagogue, sonorous and warm, with just a hint of steel backing it. And yet it was wasted, for the words meant nothing to her. Maria tilted her head slightly.  
  
With a nod, the man stepped back and began a series of gestures with both hands, accompanied by a string of strange words. Again, every gesture was done slowly, to show a lack of hostile intent. With the spell done, the man turned to speak again. From the movements of his lips, he said the same words, yet this time, she heard a somewhat distorted version of the same voice speaking the tongue of Yharnam.  
  
"May I ask for your name, fair lady?"  
  
She smiled at the formality of the request and the absurdity of it all. "Maria."  
  
The man gave a little bow. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Maria."  
  
"Your words honour me. Please, tell me your name."  
  
"I am Vlad von Carstein."  
  
"My apologies, for I have to ask this bluntly. Do you know where we are?"  
  
Vlad shook his head. "Truth be told, I had hoped you might know. I have never been to this place, and I fear it is far indeed from any place I have seen before."  
  
"So you too are stranger to whatever land this is?" While she still kept her guard up, sometwhere deep down, she felt a faint and inexplainable glimmer of hope.  
  
"It would appear so. Though if I may ask, where do you hail from?"  
  
"Raised in Cainhurst, coming from Yharnam."  
  
Seeing his lack of recognition, she gave an apologetic shrug. "Since we are both lost here in foreign lands, it would seem sensible to join forces. Though before I can even consider that, I need an honest answer." Her blueish green eyes locked onto his, and she poured all her determination in the question. "What creature are you? Certainly not human."  
  
Vlad's flesh twisted, and his monstrous features returned, as slowly and as non-threatening as possible. As it involved growing claws and fangs, any effort here was largely in vain, and Maria's hand reflexively moved for her weapon, though she stopped it before the fingers grasped the hilt.  
  
"I am a vampire. A creature of blood and darkness, should you wish for a bard's terms. Though I can assure you I will not harm you."  
  
She scrutinized him, looking for a lie and finding none. Still. it took quite some effort to force her hand away from the pallasch.  
  
"I believe you. And yet you'll have to forgive me wondering whether I can trust you."

Vlad chuckled quietly at that. "Consider it forgiven. You have no reason to trust me, given that we just met. The same is true for me. It would appear we both have to take a chance here."  
  
She nodded. "True. And I would take the chance." A faint smile crept onto her face. "I do not think either of us has to state the consequences of betrayal."

"Very well. Any suggestions regarding our next steps?"  
  
She looked at the surrounding woods. "We need to get moving, to find a way out of the forest. Should your arcane abilities be able to help with that, please make use of them."  
  
Vlad closed his eyes and focused, reaching for calm arcane fabric of this place. He did not trust this calm for a moment, and so took even more care than he ever had back home, even in an arcane tempest. Obvious danger he could handle, while this eerie calm send a shiver down his spine.  
  
His vision changed as he reached out with his mind, touching the various creatures of the night, now mostly slumbering, in a radius of a dozen miles.  
  
"We are far from any settlement", he said as he skimmed through animal memories. "The only sign of civilisation is a road crossing from east to west, about four miles to the north from our position."  
  
When he opened his eyes, Maria had already turned to head into the woods.  
  
Progress was good at first. They had made it about two thirds of the way when Vlad noticed Maria slowing her pace. He had not spoken to her own the way, unsure which topics could be to sensitive too broach, and she had not attempted to start a conversation either. Now, her eyes were unfocused. No, they were focused, just not on the physical environment. He had seen that often enough to recognize that Lady Maria was staring at something in the past, some old memory. And judging from the tears beginning to run down her face, it was not a joyful one.  
  
Ready for an unpleasant reaction, yet feeling some responsibility for his only travelling companion, Vlad put a hand on her shoulder, gently as to not startle her. Yet she hardly reacted at all, continuing to move in a slow, almost sleepwalking manner. Vlad slowed down to match her pace and after some consideration, send out another magic pulse to the creatures whose senses he had earlier used. Some of them would now watch out for anything of interest, and one or two would later share their prey.

* * *

  
She should have seen it coming. Walking through the unknown woods, accompanied by a dark creature, ready to draw blood at a moments notice. Just like the path to hamlet back then. Without the immediate concerns of a fight, there was nothing to keep the past at bay. The memory broke into her consciousness, the long way under dark trees, the sight of the village, the excuses and the slaughter that followed. The people there had not been monsters, she and the other hunters had played that role that night. And for what? Another pile of insanity inducing lore and yet more spreading of the beast plague, yet more pointless death, this time at her own hands. The disgust send a shiver down her spine.  
  
The other hunters had fallen, one by one, one way or the other. And yet somehow, she had been the one to survive, and even after death, to be brought here. She deserved no such mercy... Even her attempt to atone for her part in the atrocities by guarding what remained of the hamlet had been a failure...  
  
She had not noticed the tears, though she knew to expect them, even so much later. Vaguely, she felt a hand on her shoulder, giving her a reasurring squeeze. The effect should have been minimal, coming from a stranger who was a monster of his own. And yet it was there, a gesture of support, a kind of interaction she had not experienced in the nightmare. Had not experienced for so long a time. No matter how shallow the gesture, how untrustworthy or even disingenious the source, its mere existance held back the despair, if only an inch. She dared not to react, not reach for the comfort the gesture provided for fear of realizing its falsehood, and yet she could not bring herself to brush it off either. Continuing her way in a daze, she wondered what to do. Was this new life a chance for atonement for all she had done? Or was it a supposedly clean slate to a new existance, one were the past should not matter? Or was all of it merely a cosmic jest, a Great One's idea of a sick joke? Or, more horrifying, the beginning of what Kos might do in proper revenge?  
  
Slowly, she fought back against the tide, the hunter spirit taking over. For all her career, facing the abyss of beasthood directly had been her calling, and she had not feared it. How frightening was this new beginning, a thing that might be a great blessing even, compared to the monsters lurking in and around Yharnam? She had her wits together and a blade at her side, and with that she had faced terrors before and left bloodied and victorious, and she was stronger now and not even alone. She was Maria of Cainhurst, best student of Gehrman, perhaps the deadliest hunter of Yharnam. Whatever came, she would prevail.  
  
Part of her, the analytical part observing her own emotions, knew that the relief would be fleeting, that the despair would come back, the confidence it was based on hollow bravado. It always returned after times of apparent strength and confidence, pouncing either from surprise or jumping at any moment of crisis. It had done so for countless years. And yet even this part of her mind enjoyed the glimmer of hope, pushing back its own warnings.  
  
Maria closed her wet eyes and took a deep breath. When her eyes opened again, vague fears and old despair given ground to resolve. There was a now a road visible ahead, and maybe this road would lead to something good.  
  
Any sort of reflexions about her state or the future were cut brutally short by a glowing scimitar slashing at her face.


	2. First Blood

By the time Maria's conscious mind assessed the situation, she had jumped aside, drawn her weapon and exchanged half a dozen strikes against two opponents, instinct stepping in where thinking was too slow.  
  
Her attackers were creatures unlike any she had encountered before. Lean and long limbed humanoids, with the horns of a rams, wielding scimitars of a bright, glowing green material and clad in brown and greens. Two of the creatures stood side by side as they pressed their attack, and she could hear the clash of weapons to her right. No time to focus on that. Blazing scimitars moved towards her face and chest, and she dodged to the left, deflecting one of the weapons with her dagger.  
  
The blade contact further confirmed her foes as something more than natural. Not only were these beings able to almost match her in terms of speed, they were also similar in physical strength. Had Maria been a regular human, she would have died in a blink.  
  
Yet she was not. The rituals of blood magic conducted on all members of the royal family had been begun before she had even been born, and far more had followed. By the ancient knowledge of Cainhurst, her physique had been enhanced way past the normal limits of the human form, stronger, much quicker, with greatly increased resilience and regeneration, as well as all the improvements to the senses needed to make proper use of such enhancements. While the strikes she had parried were hard, had her arm been human arm, the limb would have been knocked senseless.  
  
She sidestepped another swipe and returned the favour. One of the creatures jumped back, and she saw opening. With a flick of her hand, she hurled the dagger at the beast, and it ducked, not noticing the feint. Rising again, it found its eye looking down the barrel of a pistol. The bullet hit home in a shower of gore, and the fey body fell, a smoking crater in its forehead. Making use of the free moment, Maria holstered the empty pistol and moved to retrieve her dagger as the other creature charged, uncaring about her blade. Even as the pallasch pierced its chest, the creature pressed the assault, wildly slashing at the hunter. This time, the crystaline blade scored a glancing hit, Maria's hardened skin providing no defense as the scimitar drew a thin cut along her collarbone.  
  
No matter how much Maria disliked using her powers of blood, instinct again overruled conscious thought. Her free hand begann to bllod underneath her glove, crimson liquid pouring out of the leather to take on a particular shape and hardening into an unnatural solid form, strong as steel and wickedly sharp. By the time the attacker had refocused, the blood had fully formed a push dagger, and Maria jammed into her enemies' skull. It took no small amount of effort, but it was worthwhile, the creature fell like puppet with cut strings.  
  
She glanced around in cautious anticipation, and beheld a scene both strange and dreadful. Three more of the unknown attackers had seemingly charged Vlad. All three were dead, brutally chopped to pieces. Behind them, four more came on, and behind those stood a figure of similar, though greater shape holding a glaive.  
  
With a sudden, impossibly quick move, the apparent leader hurled its glaive, and even with all of her skill and swiftness beyond mere nature, Maria's dive out of the way was a frighteningly close call. On the signal, the four lesser beings charged into the fray, three again facing Vlad and one doubling towards Maria. The creature ran right at her, and even at the speed it showed, it was easy to take a defensive stance. The conclusion of this being too easy came just a moment too late. Ignoring the sword that Maria plunged into its throat, heedless of its wild swing being deflected by a dagger made from solid blood, the attacker simply kept running, lowering its head as it crashed into her. She fell backwards, and only than did she notice the edges of a portal behind her. The single lesser creature gurgled blood as it pushed her through the blazing green gateway, and its eyes went dark. Maria was barely able to push its corpse off her as the portal slammed shut.

* * *

Their slender forms resembled elves, and their grace reinforced the comparison. Of course, the horns were a drastic departure, too regular for the touch of chaos and their strength was way above what their frames should have been able to support. Vlad knew the phenomenon well, as the same was true for himself, if even more extreme. The first fey died for it, a well placed parry simply battered aside by monstrous force the vampire lord put in his strike, and his enchanted blade sliced through flesh, bone and chainmail like butter, neatly bisecting the attacker. A follow up took the second creature down, it evaded Blood Drinker only to have its chest caved in by a gauntleted fist. Using a perceived chance, the third attacker lunged forward and stabbed its green blade into Vlad's shoulder, slipping under the pauldron and biting into undead flesh. The fey creature hesitated for a moment as Vlad hardly flinched, and the surprise brought its end by split skull.  
  
By now, the second have was approaching. Four more of the same creatures, and behind them a larger version with great antlers wielding a glaive. Lady Maria had dispatched her two opponents with admirable brutality, and the fact of her victory confirmed her to be either a supernatural being or material for legends, even with her struggling more than Vlad. He liked her already, and the blade of solidified blood was something he had to inquire about later. After all, a wise man picked up whatever tricks he could learn.  
  
No more time for such diversions. Having seen the demise of their comrades, the three saber wielding attackers went for a different tactic. Instead of the elegant, almost dancing movements their colleagues had employed, they charged head on in flurry of strikes, disregarding their own defense completely in order to press the attack. It was the approach of fanatics and madmen, of those willing to die for a chance at hurting their target. Any necromancer knew how to have undead minions do the same, and how to counter such actions. Rather than letting them rush and surround him, he fired off a wave of arcane energy. The winds of magic in this land were still incredibly stable, and the wave was almost calm as it raced at them. Two jumped away, to the left and the right, yet the third one was a moment too slow and lost both legs to the dark magic, the limbs dissolving in the swirling darkness as if bathed in acid. Before the other fey could regain their composure, another blast and a swift thrust send both to the ground.  
  
From the corner of his eye, Vlad could see Maria been pushed through the portal, even as her foe suffered fatal wounds in the process. He turned to try and aid her, but as he did, a glaive crashed into his stomach, arcane blade and superhuman strength driving it through plate and padding into his gut.  
  
It hurt, far more than such a wound should, whatever enchantments on the glaive clearly able to match silver when it came to burning undead flesh. Even for many of his kind, the wound would have been crippling. Yet the true lords of the night were made from sterner stuff, and so Vlad moved backwards, ripping the polearm out of his body. The antlered elf pulled it back and went with a swipe as his next attack, aiming for the throat. As the blade came about, monstrous roots shot out of the ground, grasping Vlad's legs like the tentacles of a kraken. No dodging wanted, it seemed.  
  
Two could play that game. Vlad snarled, bared his fangs, and just before the glaive might have chopped his head off, he turned his body to mist and slipped away. His enemy followed, smart enough to know even such a shape could be harmed by a weapon of great power.  
  
When it sensed movement behind, the creature reacted on instinct, spinning around and cleaving the newly risen corpse of its former underling in two. Only when the dead flesh fell of the second time did it realise the mistake. A lone zombie was no threat worthy of full attention right now. Ever so graceful, the creature spun again to face Vlad, back in physical form, jumping away from the vampire as it did. The unnatural speed saved its life, as though Vlad slashed the fey across the chest, the wound did not bite deeply. Not stopping to suffer another strike, the fey jumped again, lunging head first at the nearest tree. It looked downright comical, yet all humour vanished as it dove into the wood as if the tree trunk was made out of jelly, and simply disappeared, leaving only a trail of blood behind. Vlad hissed in frustration, looking for something to vent it on. Silence now filled the area, only broken the blood trickling out of the broken corpses lying around.  
  
Getting ambushed was a reality of life, and not a truly rare one at that. Acting on experiences made, Vlad quickly searched the bodies. It was further frustration he found, for their possessions were worthless to him, their weapons having lost their magic, their armor largely ruined, and none seemed to carry coin or other valuables he could make out. Only two things caught his eye, a curved dagger and a strand of white hair. No doubt Maria had lost both during the fight. He hesitated for a while. Barely had he met the woman, he knew little of her and he had much to learn about these lands. And yet... They had only travelled together for a few hoursand she had impressed him quite a bit. Most humans were terrified of a vampire showing his true nature, yet she had been ready to fight him without any sign of fright, only a hunter's calculating focus. And she had shown the skills to back up the determination. Not to disregard the factor of her beauty. He chuckled to himself at the sillyness of the thought.  
  
 _Why not?_ With no one else he knew in these lands and the time of the immortals, why not try to meet this one again? Of course it might proof fruitless, but there was little harm in the attempt. So he took both items with him before turning back to the road. Once more, his mind reached out, touching the carrion birds drawn to the smell of freshly slain meat. Through their memories, he could make out the path to the nearest city.  
  
With a last look at the mangled bodies of the horned elves, Vlad von Carstein turned into a swarm of bats speeding down the old road to the west.


	3. A road no longer lonely I

The orc roared in mindless anger as it pushed the assault, its cleaver-like weapon coming down in a simple overhead chop. No elegance, little technique, just a sharpened piece of iron driven with enough strength to shatter bones on a hit even if the blade hit armor it could not pierce. Captain Ryan Lockwill hooked his poleaxe into the orc's wild swing and pulled the crude machete aside. Seeing the opening, the two soldiers flanking him stepped up, one jamming her spear into the monster's stomach, the other slashing its arm open from wrist to elbow, causing a wide spray of blood. Still roaring deafeningly and making the stench of its rotten maw known, the orc took a tiny step back and and threw a wild punch at the captain, hitting him in the right shoulder. Even through his armor, the pain was considerable, and so there was a more personal satisfaction as he hacked back at the beast, driving the axe head down through its collarbone and into the chest. Not even an orc could survive such a wound, and it fruitlessly grasped for its heart as it fell to bleed out.  
  
It was a momentary triumph, for the orc was not alone. Another one of the same kind, even more scarred and ugly, stepped up and smashed its warhammer into the captain's weapon. The enchantments woven into the poleaxe meant it did not break, but the force of the blow knocked the shaft out of its owners hands. Ryan stumbled, numb hand reaching for his sword, and the orc flashed him a sadistic grin. The expression changed to shock and wonder as a soldier behind Ryan finally managed to reload his heavy crossbow and promptly shot the orc through the head. Blinded by blood and bits of splattered brain, the third orc was unable to see Ryan as he managed to get his sword free took a swing at its leg, and as the damaged knee gave way, one of the other soldiers sliced its throat. With a few seconds out of enemy reach, Ryan glanced around of the rest of the caravan, and his heart sank. While the center of the Waymarch Infantry under his command was still holding, things all around looked mostly grim. Few humans could take on orcs one on one, they had to rely on better gear, teamwork and discipline if they were to win such fights, and to their collective misery, only the first had held up in this fight. The Duchy of Waymarch trained its soldiers well, but very few in this company had any battlefield experience, and so many squads had been broken up by the orc charge, leading to the chaotic melee the barbarians excelled at. The various mercenaries hired by the caravan's merchants were a mixed bag, some of them held their positions with great skill, a few even outmatching the Waymarch soldiery in the task, but many more were scattered, fleeing or already dead.  
  
With no way to coordinate the squads neck deep in enemies, all Ryan could do was to close the ranks of those close to him and brace for the next charge he already saw comng. It appeared to be the last of the unengaged orcs, about fifty or even sixty of the brutish warriors clad in scavenged piecemeal armor. Yet these carried far better weapons and while still a far cry from an orderly formation, they stuck closely together and advanced at the same speed. Their elite, no doubt, moving towards the one human unit still in decent order, and probably lead by the master of this horde. Bad odds certainly. Ryan had maybe forty soldiers still able to fight, many wounded and exhausted. Still, there might be chance. And if they were to die, it would not be over without some of them also perishing.  
  
The crossbows managed two volleys before the lines crashed, each salvo cutting down maybe half a dozen barbarians. The tide turned once blades were crossed, the humans bearing the brunt of the casualties. Even with most of their front row dead they did not break, knowing that at this point, flight was impossible and mercy had never been considered. So they fought to the last, and quite a few of their attackers fell with them, their blood mixing as the ground turned into red mud.  
  
It would soon be over. Even as he disemboweled his current opponent, Ryan knew as much. Half his soldiers were dead by now, and two thirds of the enemy still standing. Those of his troops still fighting stumbled like drunkards, each enemy strike sending them reeling. It was simply the difference in physique, nothing could be done about that. Even men like Ryan, who had spend more than thirty years, since he had first become a squire, to aquire and maintain their strength, were scrawny compared to their current foes and even with some magical equipment, while able to their strikes aside, could hardly block them if forced. The majority of the regular soldiers had less training, no magical support and weaker armor. It was a miracle that even some of them prevailed.  
  
There was a blur, a louder instance of the constant sound of metal parting flesh, and suddenly, the pressure on Ryan and his comrades lessened. Another combatant had joined the fray, and this one had none of the soldier's issues. A glimpse was all Ryan got in the general mayhem, a figure in a dark coat with white hair and a feathered tricorne slicing through the melee towards the center, leaving a path of dead orcs and severed limbs. Just moments later, the pressure on the line broke off entirely, the orcs pausing in shock and confusion to face this new threat. Some of the soldiers did the same, while a few smarter ones saw their chance to cut down the distracted enemies.  
  
Between the now separated formations, the newcomer had stopped for a moment, facing the surviving orcs, a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. Ryan could now see that the stranger appeared to be a woman of lean build, though anything more than that was impossible to tell under all the blood and pieces of gore covering her. But he did not need to see any details to feel a sense of dread. While heroes able to carve a way through dozens of foes were a rare thing indeed, the world had no shortage of villains and monsters able to do the same, and so he was more wary than his subordinates, half of which seemed to already thank the gods. He dearly hoped they were right in doing so.  
  
Shoving a few of his lesser brethren aside, the orc chieftain stomped forward to glare at the woman The chieftain was true monster, more than eight feet tall and half as broad, each fist the size of a cannonball, the thinnest part of his arm as wide as a man's thigh. One hand held an axe large enough to be an oversized polearm for a human, the other a tower shield that might stop a ballista shot. Tiny, beady red eyes glared all before him from a face consisting almost exclusively of scar tissue. He then bellowed an order, and half a dozen of his warriors charged. They died in seconds, cut apart or fatally stabbed in a blur. Even so, the chieftain did not hesitate, charging in, shield in one hand as his other brought down the battleaxe. The clash of steel rang out, and despite all his veterancy, Ryan felt himself gasp. The woman had blocked the strike. No deflection, no parry and no sidestep, a static block any trained fighter could avoid whenever possible, expect to strike fear into onlookers. It should be downright impossible. The orc easily had eight hundred or more pounds over his enemy, almost all of it bulging muscle. A hit from such a creature should have turned any vaguely humanlike being into a bloody smear, and shatter weapons and armor like glass.  
  
For all his experience in bloodshed, the orc chieftain was a simple creature. He had no grasp of the many possibilities of the arcane, no idea of how the right rituals could give a human frame a strength and toughness otherwise reserved for creatures several times their size. Still, he was not as dumbfounded as to relent in his attack. He simply pressed harder, and showed to any onlooker another fact about the arcane means: It took extraordinary magics to permanently enhance a creature's body, and in the end, half a ton of muscle and murderous intent were more than even a so augmented human could match in brute strength. Slowly, the magical pallasch was forced downwards.  
  
Another blur, a flash of metal, and the chieftain growled in pain. The next observation was not in his favour: Increases to human strength might still have a hard time matching large monsters, yet against similarly enhanced quickness, one would have needed a different defence entirely. His opponent had slipped out of the blade lock in a blur of motion, stabbing her dagger into the chieftains's left leg, and overbalanced from the effort to break the block, the orc fell, only to feel the pallasch being thrust into his neck. It took a few moments of convulsions and spurting blood before the massive body came to terms with the deadly wound, and the remaining orcs suddenly realized the tide had truly turned. Too late. In a blink, the stranger was in their ranks, dealing death all around.  
  
Ryan blinked a few more times as he saw yet another decapitated head rolling through the muck. The strange woman payed no mind to her weapon being designed mainly for thrusting. He had gotten a look at the blade during the block and while the weapon looked certainly capable for some slashing and cutting, its design emphasis had quite obviously been the thrust. On the other hand, it was hard to argue with the effects on hand. In the hands of some possessing superhuman strength to the extent on display, even a pallasch had the effects of a headman's axe.  
  
All along the road, the orcs began to fall back, many having seen their leader die and their morale passing with him. A mere couple of minutes later, the sounds of battle had ended, and for the first time since the attack had been sprung, Ryan got a good view down the caravan. It was a disheartening sight. For a of more than two hundred meters, the ground was littered with torn bodies and fallen equipment, the dirt and the cobbles of the road stained red. Of the one hundred and twenty soldiers in his company this morning, about a third was still able to stand, the merchants and their guards mauled to a similar extent. And all this a just a few hours travel from the walls of Bard's Gate. Since the marauders to get so close to the city, the situation in the foothills of the Stoneheart mountains had to be nothing short of a disaster waiting to happen.  
  
He was so lost in a momentary fear of the hordes descending from the Stonehearts in a massive force that he hardly realized that his strange rescuer had turned and begun to walk down the road, heading straight for one of the wagons. With a last look other to his remaining soldiers, he chose to follow her, as much to thank as to keep an eye on someone so dangerous. Curiously, all the woman did was to had her dagger to one of the merchant guards, and while he could not hear the words spoken, her posture seemed almost apologetic. As he approached, his thinking was clear enough for him to sheathe his weapon. Against someone (or something) like this stranger, the weapon would do him no good.  
  
The stranger turned as he approached, and this time, Ryan got a far better look. She was a woman, the better view confirming that much, and a beautiful one at that, her skin pale as marble and flawless to an almost uncanny degree. Her hair was the colour of fresh snow, at least that which was not drenched in orc blood. One glance was enough to tell she was of noble birth, she had the posture of one risen in such environs, and while her attire was practical and bore little ornamentation, it was of highest quality. Her eyes were frightening though, blueish-green in colour and with the cold, calculating look of a professional killer, quickly darting to all the joints and weakspots in Ryan's battered full plate.  
  
"Thank you", was all he could muster in terms of eloquence, internally cursing himself. Yet even such a banal expression seemed to work out, for her predatory glare vanished, and she simply nodded.  
  
"I am glad to have helped." Her voice was soft, as soft as to almost seem a whisper even at regular volume, and there was a clear melancholy in her tone.  
  
"You saved our lives there. If you wish for anything in repayment, please do not hesitate to state it." He placed one hand on his cuirass and bowed. "Captain Ryan Lockwill, fifth company, fourth Waymarch Infantry, at your service."  
  
"Maria of Cainhurst", she said and returned the gesture. "I will demand no payment, but if you don't mind, I have questions you might be able to answer."  
  
"I must organize the caravan to move again, but if you wish, you can ask your question along the way."  
  
She shook her head slightly. "My answers can wait, your duty here cannot. I will wait until the important matters are dealt with."  
  
About twenty minutes later, the wagons were moving again, many now carrying the wounded in addition to their cargo. The dead bodies stayed behind. Though it pained Ryan not to give them a proper burial, there was no time to do so, and this close to the city, a fresh detachment with better support would be send out to attend this task. He now held the reigns of the first wagon, and Lady Maria had sat down beside him.  
  
"Your questions then, my lady?"  
  
"Where are we currently?"  
  
Her expression made clear it was no jest, and that she was aware how strange it sounded. So Ryan gave a simple answer. "On the Tradeway, a few hours from Bard's Gate."  
  
Maria blinked. "I fear these names are unknown to me. Tell, have you heard of the great city of Yharnam? Or of Cainhurst?"  
  
"Not before you mentioned them. I could show you a proper map once we are in the city, and there are plenty of scholars in Bard's Gate too. You might find one there able to help you. Though before you meet anyone on business, even you look like you need some rest. Would recommend the Six Candles, best Inn the city has." He noticed at slight tension as he mentioned that, and wondered if he had caused some offense until she responded.  
  
"I don't have any money."  
  
"Do not worry about that."  
  
She made to protest, but Ryan was quick to cut her off. "You saved easily a hundred lives here, my own included. Paying for an inn stay is far less than this caravan owes you, and besides, it will be filed as a necessary expense anyway."  
  
"What were the creatures attacking you? Mutants?"  
  
"They are called orcs, my lady. Savages living in the mountains and their foothills. As you can tell, they are deadly, and they are no friend to humans, or any civilized folk really. Only those with black hearts bargain with their tribes, when they need soldiers willing to do anything, no matter how cruel." Ryan stopped himself for a moment, to keep his hatred of the enemy in check. "Suppose I have to admit that some of them leave their people and try fitting in with humans, though most do so as thugs and legbreakers. I advise you to be cautious around them, even those in the city often have a short temper and little scruples." He gave a mirthless chuckle. "Not that you have any need to heed my warnings, given what you shown today."  
  
"They are appreciated nonetheless", Maria said in a serious tone. "Overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer, preying on those careless enough to underestimate their enemies. Anyone you face on a battlefield is a lethal danger, no matter how slim their chances, no matter how pathetic their abilities."  
  
Wise words. Even a goblin stood a decent chance against a human not on guard, so his people would have to be mad to become so overconfident. Some of the younger knights he had met suffered for such idiocy, believing childhood tales or their own legends even when facing overwhelming proof of reality.  
  
"Wish I could tell orc are the worst of it, but that would make me a liar. There are giants and demon worshippers in the same regions, and they tend to much more dangerous, not just stronger, but wily and well organized. Such a large attack this close to the city means something is really riling them up, and that usually preludes terrible events, maybe even a full invasion."  
  
Lady Maria gave only a little nod, apparently lost in her own thoughts. Come to think of it, she had certainly not been part of the caravan before this day, and Ryan wondered how long she had travelled alone on this road, given her lack of companions.  
  



	4. A road no longer lonely II

The road to Vermis, while certainly an impressive construction, had clearly seen better days. Twice during the times he had walked in his humanoid form, Vlad had been waylaid by bandits, once from ambush, once in a hilariously bad attempt of them pretending to be normal travellers. Neither encounter had lasted longer than a few seconds of slaughter, but thanks to these foolish crooks, he had fed well, and how possessed a horse and quite some coin. A day after the second bandit group, he had met other travellers and joined them. It was no impressive collection, two families on the move with their wagons, a wandering bard and a trader with small group of mercenaries, hired by him after a chance meeting, their true goal being work in the city ahead. It would still take a few days to get there, and it seemed that the closer they got to the safer, far better patrolled lands surrounding Vermis, the more nervous the others got. Apparently they had avoided any trouble before and feared their luck would run out if the destination in view.  
  
Making camp for the night was something of an annoyance. Vlad could stay active for weeks without issues if needed, and was happy not to suffer from the frailties of mortal existence. Yet his horse did require rest, as did those he travelled with. They all sat together around the small fire, a pot of stew in the making. Vlad was keenly aware of the glances they threw at him. Some were just because as the newest part of this band, he was the least trusted, but others were more circumspect than that.

One of the mercenaries, Cyril by name, had so far proven himself a smart man of keen senses. A wiry man of average height, he was quite handsome in an almost delicate way, but the two pistols and the sword at his belt were well kept and he was always ready to draw. He had not voiced any suspicion, and yet Vlad knew the man sensed something about him. Its was also true in the reverse. The disguise was apparently good enough to fool the senses of most living beings, but for Vlad, the signs were clear. Cyril's smell did not fit his role at all, his own scent slightly but distinctly inhuman, and his clothes did not smell of the dirt and sweat any journey of this length would bring. Magic in clothes or person could explain way the latter, but Cyril had neither mentioned being a mage nor did his possessions imply arcane skills, and no common sellsword would be able to afford enchantments for something so trivial. Yet as long as the man, or monster if he was, did not hinder Vlad, he would not take action against him.  
  
Of course, Vlad too had taken care to mask his appearance somewhat, pretending to breathe, taking meals that had no effect on his body, and wearing the simple cloak taken from one dead bandit wrapped around himself, but a perceptive observer would note that his now battered plate was better than that of any hedge knight, and only a fool would think his sword, Blood Drinker, anything other than the magical weapon it was.  
  
Next the mercenaries and the trader they protected, the Gilton family look rather out of place, with little in the way of weaponry and no armor. Despite this factor, Reginald and Carla Gilton glared daggers at him, and their son sometimes joined. Reason for this hostility was the last member of the family, Anja, whose glances and biting her lip towards him spoke of an altogether different intent, one that her parents had detected in short order. So far, looks were all that had occured. Vlad knew himself to a be man many would consider attractive and had made use of that when convenient in the past, and seeing it backfire like this was amusing in a way. Of course, he had nothing to fear from a few angry peasants or a young woman's affection, and yet he wondered how to react should any of them act on their emotions. He would prefer not to kill them if it could be avoided, but knew that if any of them were to raise a hand against him, his temper might slip.  
  
After the simple dinner was over, Vlad turned away from the group, into the field besides the road. He extended his senses as he did, both in the physical and the magical realm, almost meditating on the calm, pleasant impressions. Wherever he was, the winds of magic were still as calm as they had been immediately after his awakening, a gentle persistent breeze. In this land, one would have to actively try to cause any of the magical mishaps so threatening to wizards back home. The countryside too was quiet beauty, and Vlad shifted his attention to a wild cat hunting out in the field, observing the predator sneaking in the grass, ready to pounce at any moment.  
  
It was surprising how long Cyril was able to avoid detection. By the time Vlad sensed his approach, he was a mere twenty meters away, walking at a casual pace while making almost no sound. Not bad. Vlad slowly moved on hand on Blood Drinker's hilt. Caution was definitely preferable to bravery.  
  
"You won't need that, sir", Cyril said, and even through his attempts to stay calm, Vlad could pick up a hint of fear, a slight tremor of the voice, and he heard the man's heart rate increasing. Besides, here was proof that Cyril could see in the dark.  
  
"Difficult to tell, with a man able to see in the dark."  
  
"Its just as difficult if you're talking to a man who doesn't actually breathe."  
  
Now Vlad slowly turned around, and the wry smile left Cyril's face. "No offense sir."  
  
"None taken. Yet. Why are you here?"  
  
Cyril took a deep breath and steadied himself. "Since we both know something is up with us, and since I can tell you are the more powerful one, I just wanted to talk plainly. I have no intention of revealing anything about you, neither here nor in Vermis nor anywere else. And of course I ask you do the same."  
  
Vlad thought about the words, particularly the ranking of their power relative to one another. He had assumed the same, and now the rising fear in Cyril confirmed the assessment. Presuming this was not an elaborate ruse he was failing to detect. The sellsword did sound honest, and if he was lying, it would neither be Vlad's first quick exit nor his first hunt for vengeance.  
  
"My gratitude for your honesty. You can rest assured that I will maintain full discretion as long as you do the same."  
  
"Thanks, sir. I will leave you be then." Cyril bowed and made his retreat as hastily as politeness allowed. A curious fellow, but one who showed at least common sense, and maybe even decency. As long as his trust was not betrayed, Vlad would keep his word, and who knew, maybe the mercenary could be a ally in the future. Still, better to keep an eye on him. While fearful men could be controlled somewhat, they could also be quite dangerous if pushed.  
  
The second person to approach was trying way harder to be sneaky, and was far less successful in doing so. Anja Gilton was certainly no stealth expert, though she avoided one rookie mistake by not approaching with the fire behind her. This time, Vlad pretended not to notice her, if only to keep his human guise more believable. The girl's heart was beating quite fast, and her breathing rate had also increased.  
  
Vlad just stood still, gazing into the night, seemingly lost in thought. It was not a complete deception, after all, he was thinking of how to deal with the girl while causing a minimum of fuss.  
  
"A beautiful night, isn't it?" Anja almost whispered as she arrived beside Vlad, her voice coy and suggestive. A short glance was enough to tell her clothes had been loosened already, and her heartbeat sped up even more.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you are just standing here, away from the camp, staring into the darkness?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"There are things one could do to make this night even more enjoyable."  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
The strategy seemed to work somewhat, for Anja's next words were spoken with clear annoyance in addition to the sultry tone. "I might have a suggestion for something of that nature."

With that said, she made to remove her bodice.  
  
Vlad sighed. "Don't."  
  
She hesitated. "And why not?"  
  
"Because I have no desire for your company. I merely wish to be left alone."  
  
"Alone? You expect I believe that?"  
  
"Yes", Vlad growled. "I wish to be left alone, in peace and undisturbed by this apparent infatuation."  
  
"And why is that?", the girl pouted, and if looks could kill, Vlad might have perished then and there.  
  
He sighed once more. "I am in no mood for what you suggest, and you are not my type anyway. Too young, and far too dense in terms of reading people. Now leave me, before anyone gets awoken by this nonsense."  
  
"You will regret this", she hissed, managing to sound quite intimidating for someone so ill equipped to deliver on such threats.  
  
"Maybe I will", he said as the girl turned to storm off. This one too was one to keep an eye on. Even someone with no arcane power, no martial skill, no wealth and little experience could become a danger given time. To underestimate people for them being peasants had been fatal for enough others to see the recurring mistake.  
  
If the girl did make any plans for revenge, she did so in secret, though the looks Vlad got for the rest of the journey were quite poisonous. Besides this minor inconvenience, the rest of the journey went reasonably well, meeting only a few travellers from Vermis along the road.  
  
As for the city itself, it was certainly something worthy of being looked at. Though much smaller than the truly great cities of the Empire, and neither as majestic as Middenheim, nor as industrious as Altdorf, Nuln or Marienburg, but still a metropolis, and clearly one with excellent fortifications. Banners of a black dragon on a yellow field hung above the wall's towers, many fitted with ballistae, and were many places had a handful of guards on the actual gate, Vermis had about two dozen men at arms searching all incoming travellers. Annoying, certainly, but the dedication to security was something Vlad could appreciate. A few seconds of eye contact and a gentle use of his abilities made sure he was swiftly let past the guards, and one of them was kind enough to point him to the archives.  
  
If only the advice of a city guardsman had been enough. Those watching the city archives made rather clear that entrance would only be granted to those bearing a writ of authorisation, and these watchers made an impression of higher training than the common soldiers at the gate. Clearly for Vlad, the ruler of this city knew arcane knowledge to be a valuable thing. Breaking into the building, while certainly an option, was a risk he was unwilling to just take. And if official knowledge was so guarded, he doubted regular shops and libraries would hold the information he was looking for. Which made the best option to obtain such a writ from someone in the ducal court.  
  
Vlad had barely made it two blocks away from the archive when he noticed that someone was shadowing him. A man in clerical vestments, evidently not used to such shady acting, with an expression speaking of something between fear and disgust.  
  


* * *

  
At this time, many miles to the east, a large posse was searching the area were Maria and Vlad had first appeared in the Lost Lands.  
  
"It was here sir, no doubt about it. The stain of this cursed Source magic is still drenching this area." High Priest Arhib made no effort to hide his disgust, and Gottfried Lichtschmied could only agree. Around them, magisters in red robes and paladins in gilded plate walked through the woods, searching for tracks of a more physical nature. The sick nature of the very trees was proof of the horrid corruption of Source, the only thing missing was the one responsible.  
  
"Any hint of Raldis?"  
  
The priest shook his head. "No sir. If that vile swine was here, he left no distinct mark behind."  
  
"He was here, I am sure of it. He was there when the other cases arrived, it amuses that bastard's twisted soul. We need to look again, dig deeper."  
  
So they did, searching the woods in all directions, methodically and slowly, and their dedication saw them rewarded. The scene of a fight, lots of old blood. Little of it human.

Almost a dozen corpses, all of the same kind, strange horned elves by the looks of it. Two had been withered away by dark magic, one had clearly been shot in the head, others hacked to pieces. While the sight of bloodbath was not something that would make Gottfried flinch, the concerned expression worn by Arhib was something worrying.

"This is a sign of greater danger than before", the cleric answered the unspoken question. "These corpses were of the Wild Hunt, fey creatures that strive to hunt down powerful beings for the challenge and sport. Quite powerful creatures themselves. If this number of them of them were cut down, and by the looks of it, not by a large force, it means that this time, something truly dreadful reached this world."

Gottfried did not reply. Instead, he took another look at the corpses affected by magic. When recognition forced its way through his subconcious denial, the colour drained from his face. "This was done by the necromancy of my old homeland. I have seen it before." He turned around, revulsion and anger brewing. "Have you ever had a Sourcerer on your hands who was also an accomplished necromancer?"

Promptly, Arhib too grew pale. "Not yet. And any sane man would hope to never find out something like this existed."

"Right you are. And yet, this is what we must prepare to face this time."

Arhib nodded and rushed over to their followers. This had to be passed further up the chain, and swiftly.

* * *

  
A hundred miles or so south, another stranger awoke in the Lost Lands, though this one was not lost as the others had been. There was no confusion, only sacred purpose, and a pull in the back of the mind showing the right direction. The mistake would be removed. The cursed bloodline would be exterminated as it should have been all those years before.

* * *

  
" The only proper way to get a writ of that nature authorized is by working for someone high in the court, and doing well with it", the clerk stated calmly, barely looking up from the papers on her desk.  
  
"Any recommendations about someone easy to work with?" Vlad kept up the pleasant smile, only imagining burning the city hall down. The thought became more tempting by the minute.  
  
"A landless knight from unknown parts? No friends here, no credentials? You might try Lord Derlac's mission to Eastreach. They are looking for more aid, and you might be worth more to them than a common sellsword." The contempt in her eyes made the last sentence sound doubtful.  
  
"Thank you", Vlad said warmly, barely able to keep himself from ripping the head of condescending clerk right of her shoulders. "Where can I find this Lord Derlac?"  
  
Some of his anger must have shown, for the clerk answered with greater swiftness than ever before. "His office is open to recruits from noon to evening. Left staircase, third floor, right corridor, second door on the right."  
  
Not wasting more words, Vlad made his way to the door in question. A few others were waiting in said corridor, mostly mercernaries down on their luck by the optics. One man did stand out though.  
  
"Guess the city is not as large as it seems."  
  
Cyril turned around smoothly, a faint smile on his face. "The city is big, the market for bladework not so much. Figured you were looking for something similar, travelling knights often do." His smile widened. "Why don't we do this together? You got the noble name and behaviour, and I know the market. We could help each other."  
  
"You would enter my service?"  
  
Cyril shrugged. "I was suggesting a partnership on equal terms. But if you want to subcontract me, I am fine if that. Fair warning though, I don't do suicide jobs and the like. Given you and Lord Derhac are both nobles and the rate you could get from him, my rate will be forty percent of yours, plus a full share of the loot."  
  
"We have an agreement. Though it sounds odd for you to travel so far west to this city, only to turn east on the spot."  
  
"True, and it was not planned like this. I got a message just past the gate. A good friend of mine asks to meet me in Carterscroft, mentioning urgency without details."  
  
"How bad is it?"  
  
"Can't be sure, but likely quite troublesome." Cyril stopped smiling, and looked almost pleadingly. "Both he and me would be very thankful for any assistance."  
  
"I shall do what I can. And when the time comes, you will repay the favour."  
  
The mercenary nodded. "Since you will talk to Derlac, I will make preparations for the way. Gateside Inn, the owner knows me."  
  
Vlad watched Cyril as he left, wondering how far he could trust the man. The question was still on his mind when the last sellsword entered Derlac's office, and he had not found a full answer by the time he walked through the same door.  
  
Lord Roderich Derlac was a middle aged nobleman in simple, yet elegant grey robes, matching his thinning hair and beard. Of average height and frail build, he did not look like a dangerous man at first glance, but studying his face betrayed a certain shrewdness and fierce determination in his pale yellow eyes. Of greater concern to Vlad however was how the noble recoiled in his seat upon seeing him, those same eyes going wide with fear, his right hand grabbing the dagger at his belt.  
  
Many methods could find out a vampire's nature. Those versed in the arcane arts or the mysteries of the gods had the easiest time, but sharp senses and good instinct could do the same. He could just kill Derlac, the aging lord was certainly unable to fend of a vampire lord, but that might very easily cause a panic if Derlac managed to scream, and that would bring in far greater dangers. So Vlad calmly closed the door and sat down, locking eyes with the noble.  
  
"You will have no need for that weapon now. Were I your enemy, I would not come here during office hours." With a friendly smile, Vlad reached for the wine pitcher on the massive desk and poured two glasses.  
  
"That makes ... a degree of sense." Derlac spoke slowly, though he regained some of his composure. "If you offer me to trade something for my soul, you will be disappointed."  
  
"No. I wish is to access the archives, especially the arcane library. And I heard that working for you could give me that access."  
  
"You heard that correctly, and if that is all you want, we could come to an arrangement. My work will take me to Carterscroft, and your job would be to ensure my unharmed arrival. The arcane library there should be nearly equal to the one here, and if it is insufficient, you can return here. My word will open these doors all the same. Is that agreeable?"  
  
"Three more things. A salary equal to that of a dozen quality soldiers, for me. I assure you my service is worth far more than that. And whatever you think me to be, you will keep that to yourself. Lastly, should someone else find out, you will do all that is in your power to make sure they do not act against me based on that alone. Is that agreeable?"  
  
"You bargain while I should have you arrested. The audacity is astonishing."  
  
Vlad shrugged. "No greater audacity than to threaten me with arrest while I could see your head roll whenever I wanted. Given the way you look at me, you are well aware of that."  
  
A raspy chuckle came from the noble. "A fair point, sir knight. Your terms are agreeable, once you tell me your name."  
  
"Vlad von Carstein."  
  
"Well met then, sir von Carstein. With the recruits of the day , enough manpower has been hired, and my duties are urgend. We ride for Carterscroft at noon tomorrow." Derlac extended his hand, and Vlad shook it. Obviously Derlac was not to be trusted, and once the man had more swords by his side, might be tempted to renegotiate. Until then, the aging lord might prove useful enough.  
  
As the old noble had claimed, at noon the next day, a column left Vermis through the eastern gate. Lord Derlac, or the superiors he never mentioned specifically, were clearly expecting trouble. In addition to the fifty or so sellswords he had hired, two full companies of infantry marched under his command, as well as another forty knights and an appropriate logistics train. More than one eyebrow was raised as for why he had even bothered to hire more troops of likely less firm loyalty, and rumour and gossip were spread in abundance, yet Derlac maintained silence on the matter. As far as Vlad was concerned, he would wait for more indications as to the lord's reasons, and he told Cyril to keep an ear out for any such clues. The first thing the mercenary pointed out was that the infantry in question was not from the province of Eastreach, but from the Duchy of the Rampart. More questions made Cyril talk much of the Kingdoms of Foere, a nation quite similar to the Empire in political structure, if lacking the elections of its crown. From Cyril's words, the Duchy of the Rampart was considered far more loyal and reliable than both Aachen, the local province ruled from Vermis, and their destination, the province of Eastreach.

For the first day of the way, all seemed to go fine enough. Whatever bandits and beasts might waylay travellers along this highway, the Wain Road, were to clever to pick a fight against a large force, especially one not escorting a shipment of treasure. The second dawn brought a strange change of pace.

"We have been ordered to make greater haste in our mission," Lord Derlac announced loudly to the gathering troops just as they made ready to continue moving. Whoever had given those orders had either send them magically, or had employed someone of remarkable stealth skill to inform the lord without anyone on watch noticing the messenger. Or this was some gambit, pretending these orders were new, while they might be older or even be made up.

"As such, we cannot travel at the speed of the infantry. Captain", he turned to the infantry officer in charge, " your orders are the same. Move to Carterscroft as swiftly as you can, and keep an eye out for trouble. I will take all cavalry and move ahead. Be ready for a harsh ride, gentlemen."

"Seems someone wants to be rid of the Rampart fellows", Cyril whispered as the cavalry assumed formation. "And for all the danger seventy riders are, its a lot less than before."

"That much is obvious. The reason behind it is what interests me. Are you thinking Derlac will lead us into an ambush, and wants to make it easy for the ambushers?"

"Unlikely. I think something spooked the man, and he acts on fear."

"And we are the ones who have to keep him alive, or we won't get paid. Any idea how to ensure he keeps his head?"

"Not much besides the usual. Watching out for enemies hidden and open seems all to do. For now. And if he leads us into a trap, making sure he does not enjoy it."


	5. Bard's Gate

Bard's Gate was supposedly one of the greatest cities in these lands, from what she had overheard the soldiers saying. Compared to Yharnam though, it was not exactly impressive. Supposedly, up to two hundred thousand dwelled within its walls this time of the year, with trade in full swing. It was in line with technology Maria had seen around, a good century or two behind had would have been the standard in Yharnam and surroundings, though given the seeming abundance of magic here and the ease of its use, the difference in comforts might be far less severe.  
  
The battered column made it through the gate with little delay, the guards there unwilling to let wounded allies wait. Captain Lockwill gave command to one of his lieutenants, having declared it his personal responsibility to see her taken care of in the city. It was obvious that the man considered doing so his knightly duty and did not mean to be patronizing, and as such, Maria appreciated it, knowing full well the trouble she might get in as a stranger with no money, and that not all such troubles could or should be solved with a blade.  
  
During their way into the market district, they both drew plenty of shocked looks and saw many changing the side of the street. Removing all the blood from their clothes would have taken far more time than a caravan with many wounded had on the road, and so their cleanup had been rather limited. Her control of blood could have done away with the stains easily, but Maria knew all to well how most outsiders reacted to that sort of display, so she had kept that secret. At least, the captain's tabard was still recognizable, and the sigil made sure they avoided any trouble with the watch. Lockwill led her directly to an elegant, decorated building besides a canal, clearly familiar with the street layout. Two chandeliers with six candles each flanked the entrance, and two burly men in tailored suits made way, their sense of duty outweighed by their wish not to confront a blood splattered knight. Walking through the door brought Lockwill and Maria into a large lobby, and as soon as they stepped in, the apparent concierge, a middle aged man with reciding grey hair wearing an immaculate suit, rose from his chair, mouth opening and closing like a fish on land, an almost perfect picture of flabbergasted posh outrage.  
  
"Captain! How can you come in here like this? This is unacceptable! This is a respectable inn, not a butcher's shop! With all due respect, I must insist..."  
  
Seeing the concierge face turn to deeper red every second and listening to his voice becoming ever more shrill, Maria was barely able to keep herself from laughing. The man was so close to some of the higher servants and minor officials in Cainhurst, so stuck up that if someone was to be stabbed in his lobby, his first concern would be the threat posed to the carpet by spilled blood. At least some things in this world were just like what she knew.  
  
Unbothered by the flustered and increasingly angry concierge, Captain Lockwill just walked up to the counter and slammed a piece of paper onto the polished wood. The effect was immediate, the concierge sitting back down and, aside from the colour of his face, looking like nothing had happened.  
  
"A full package then, Captain? All paid for by the Waymarch Garrison. It appears to all be in order then. Wilfred will show you your room." A certain sneer remained audible in the voice of the man, even with his anger abated by satisfaction of his greed.  
  
"It's not for me Charles, it's for the lady." Lockwill bowed towards Maria, and she gave a slight nod to the concierge.  
  
"Very well Captain", Charles said stiffly and sniffed. "That just leaves the matter of weaponry not being allowed in this house." Two more guards, similar to the ones outside, slowly stepped towards Maria. Instinctively and quite unfortunate for the situation, her hand moved to the hilt of her pallasch. Both guards froze, knowing enough about their business to tell this was a confrontation best avoided.  
  
"We both know there are exceptions to every rule, Charles. Write another fifty on the bill if it soothes you." Lockwill turned to the guards. "Wouldn't recommend you boys to try and take her stuff without her agreeing, if you value your life that is."  
  
Sensing the truth in the words of the veteran knight, the guardsmen backed off, not even waiting for the signal from their boss. Lockwill turned to Maria. "Apologies, my lady, I have to return to my troops and will have other business to attend to as well. Should you require anything else, you can find me either at the Pride of the March or at the barracks. Charles can give you the address." He bowed again before leaving. As soon as the door fell shut behind him, Charles turned to Maria, still sneering through a veneer of respect. "Might I suggest a bath before anything else? And a thorough cleaning for you attire, ma'am?"  
  
Given everything that had happened in the latest time, Maria only nodded quietly.

* * *

  
While a hot bath and warm meal did wonders to ease the burdens and pains of long travel and brutal fighting, sleep did not bring too much of reprieve. It covered the physical need, but the nightmares tore away any soothing of the mind rather violently. When she awoke, Maria was unable to recall much of the details, just vague impressions of a flaming inferno, of screams, pain and blood. Still, in this somewhat secure location, her fighting instinct had somewhat withdrawn, for the first time in over a week. It had been eight days since the attack by those alien, slender creatures in the woods, eight days since her involuntary teleportation. For most of the time, she had acted almost completely on instinct and ingrained training, following the road with no idea of its destination, hunting for food and climbing up a tree to sleep each night with one eye open and one hand on her weapon. Her conscious thoughts of hopelessness and confusion had been forced aside by her survival instinct, and only know was truly starting to consider her situation.  
  
It was a lot better than before, though that was a remarkably low bar. She was in a major city now, away from the monsters perhaps lurking in the wilderness, and by the gratitude of Captain Lockwill, she had fine accomodations. Even so, she was a penniless foreigner in a place she had never heard of.  
  
Why had this happened? Would all beings killed in the Hunter's Nightmare awake in this world? Was it a random natural phenomenon? Or a process designed by a mind of great magical power?  
  
All these questions she had no answer for, and to find them, if even possible, would require specialized assistance. Most magic in Yharnam not related to blood had been too rare to have a true economy, but even with the comparative abundance of the arcane arts present here, she doubted advice on something this strange would come cheap.  
  
She left the large bed and walked over to the window, looking out over the nightly city. After bath and meal, she had turned to sleep rather early, and awoken at least two hours before dawn. Maria remembered vaguely that her clothes had been brought here sometime before slumber took its hold, freshly cleaned and repaired by means that only be magical. Unwilling to go back to the nightmares, she swiftly changed back into her own attire, and slipped out of the room, carefully not too disturb anyone. It was hardly difficult, any hunter learned to sneak past sharper ears than those of sleeping humans behind closed doors, and just a minute later, Maria stepped onto the cobblestones of the street.  
  
Without any goal in mind, she walked the nightly streets, so peaceful compared to Yharnam. There were still people about, but neither frenzied mobs nor rabid beasts. Though as she left the more wealthy neighbourhood around the Inn of Six Candles, the streets first became quieter and emptier, before more shady looking characters became apparent. Toughs patrolling what they thought theirs, glaring at all others. Traders of obviously prohibited items offering their goods, and prostitutes of less than high class doing the same. Beggars looking warily around, hope for alms almost extinguished. For now, most of them simply ignored Maria as she passed by, and she paid not much mind to them. While she felt far more compassion for the poor and downtrodden than her relatives would have ever approved of, she was in no position to help them right now.  
  
The sound of a stone hitting stone broke her out of her inaction. It was a more specific kind of sound, a throw hitting a wall with considerable force. She had heard it often, the sound of the mob trying to hurt or kill with simple means and missing. Something Maria had nothing but distaste for. She darted into the alleyway it had come from, and as mundane as it was, the scene filled her with both wrath and disgust.  
  
Four of the local thugs stood in a semicircle, facing a barricade of junk and old furniture blocking the way. At the base of that barricade, a mangy looking cat had managed to avoid the first thrown stone, yet just as Maria turned the corner, another throw hit the cat in the left foreleg, causing it too howl in pain. Another thug picked up a stone and began to take aim.  
  
"Cease this at once!" Maria's aristocratic voice cut through the air like a whip, and four pairs of eyes turned to face her. Three men and one woman, all dressed in shabby, mismatched armor and carrying clubs and knifes, with one still holding a stone.  
  
"Whatta we have ere? Blue blood got lost?", the apparent leader, the man holding the stone sneered before giving a mocking bow. "erhaps the highborn lass wants to see how us common people live. Show her some."  
  
His three comrades charged in, one man going for a curved dagger, the others drawing clubs.  
  
Humans. Just regular, if vile humans, neither well armed nor properly armored nor in large, coordinated group. Maria did not even bother to draw a weapon. The one wielding the dagger was the closest, his attack a simple lunge aimed for her chest, not elegant, but decently executed, likely practiced in many such alley brawls. Effective against the foes he was likely to encounter. No chance this time. Maria sidestepped his stab, simultaneously driving her fist into his gut. With her augmented physique, the simple punch had similar force to a decent hit with a warhammer, and the battered. shabby leather armor was no adequate protection. Her target fell to the ground, feebly clutching the hit zone, barely if at all remaining conscious. Behind him, the club wielders did not really see what was coming. Even among well trained and veteran soldiers, few were able to perceive the movements of one like Maria as anything more than a blur, and for all their vicious experience, these thugs were not on that level. A fist smashed the man in the face, breaking both his nose and several teeth, just as a knee hit the woman in the groin area. Both dropped like sacks of grain, and behind them, their leader saw just another blur and tried to turn away before the next strike caught him in the temple, sending him to the floor too.

The opposition dealt with, Maria walked over to the cat, slowly as to not appear frightening. As the feline turned to flee, Maria lunged forward and grabbed it firmly, her leather gloves sufficient to keep the small claws at bay.

"Calm down, little one. Your wounds need to be looked at. I will not save you only for you to die of an infection." She doubted it was her voice that stopped the cat struggling, exhaustion and resignation being far more believable. Up close, Maria did spot the collar hidden under the dirty fur, and the name "Sally" written on it, followed by an address.

"Just relax, little one", she continued to whisper as she carried the cat away. "You'll get some food, a cleanup, and then we go find your home."

Watching the colour of the concierge's face change when Maria walked through the doors just before dawn with a filthy cat in her arms was as amusing as it was informative. Such a swift change, and without any assistance of makeup or magic, was something to behold.  
  
"This is too much! First the way you arrived here, covered in blood, keeping weapons, and now this! The Six Candles is a place of standards, not a home for street cats! Remove this pest at once!"  
  
Maria considered asking nicely, to explain the situation and to assure that there would be no substantial inconvenience, and none at all to other guests. But the brush with humanities worse aspects had left her somewhat angry, and while she was often ashamed for actions in her former life, being screamed at by someone like this was to much for her strained patience.  
  
"If you do worry so much for the reputation of this place", she said in her most formal and polite tone, drawing on the lessons of her upbringing so long past, "then you might consider lowering your voice, lest your screaming wakes up the other guests. Just a few minutes from here, a group of thugs attempted to murder me. Do you see me throwing a fit about that? Or should I? Is that what this city expects of a lady?"  
  
As expected, an imperious tone and the threat of potential scandal worked wonders. Charles was still fuming, but did so in silence, still looking at the cat the way most people would look at a cat sized spider.  
  
"Now, if you could have someone fetch some meat and a bucket of hot water, that would be much appreciated. And find me a way to Metcalf Avenue 11."  
  
Sighing, the concierge did as told, and so Maria spend the next few minutes in her room, cleaning a cat's fur with a towel drench in warm water. The cat, Sally, did not protest much, too busy devouring small cuts of meat from a bowl to mind the surroundings. After the meal, the cat made a drowsy sound before simply sliding on the carpet, fast asleep. After a few moments of enjoying the adorable sight, Maria gently wrapped the cat in a spare blanket and made her way to the address, following the description Charles had provided.  
  
Getting there meant crossing through most of Bard's Gate, which did include considerable traffic. Even so, it was a lot more pleasant than similar circumstances in Yharnam, the people far more mindful of their fellows. It reminded her of Yharnam's reputation as a vile, decadent place, and while she had not seen it like that, having been raised in a place that was a great deal more decadent and vile than the city, she could now see why outsiders viewed it so. Crossing the two large bridges let her into an apparently newer part of Bard's Gate, and the she found the right house with little effort, a two-story building of brick and wood, just like those all along the street.  
  
Sally opened a lazy cat eye as Maria knocked on the front door, but did not stir inside the blanket. Light, fast steps were audible inside before the door opened, revealing a boy of maybe twelve to thirteen years, looking up at her with wide eyes.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Maria. Tell me, do you know to whom this cat belongs?" She removed the blanket.  
  
"Sally!" With surprising strength, the boy moved forward and hugged the cat just as Maria moved to set it down. Tears were running down his face as he held the cat tightly. "I was so worried about you! I feared I would never see you again."  
  
Smiling faintly, Maria took a step back, her presence seemingly forgotten. A voice called out from the house, asking who the visitor was, but the boy paid it no mind. He slowly looked up at the hunter.  
  
"Thank you. I prayed for Sally to come back every day, and you brought her back. Does that mean you are an angel?"  
  
The question was asked with genuine curiosity, and Maria shook her head. "I do not think so."  
  
A man in the a green suit poked his head through the door. "Jack, what is this all about?" He through Maria a wary look, one that spoke of bad experience.  
  
"This lady brought Sally back!" Jack turned around, the cat still in his arms, and the mans expression softened.  
  
"You best bring Sally inside then. The others need to see her too", the man said and stepped aside as the boy rushed back into the house. He then turned his attention to Maria.  
  
"I am thankful for what you did. Though if you are looking for a reward, we have no money to spare."  
  
"I did not do this for money. I found a cat in a sorry state and brought her home. That is all."  
  
The man seemed at first doubtful of her words, than he nodded. "Sorry for being standoffish, too many adventurers would not lift a finger to help without gold in exchange. While we lack gold, we will not forget what you have done." He glanced over his shoulder. "I have to get back to my family. If you want to, you could join us for breakfast."  
  
Maria shook her head. "I must attend to another matter, and my part here is done."  
  
"Farewell then."

* * *

  
  
Much of the rest of the day had been somewhat frustrating. She had made her way through four different libraries, asking the staff for any hint about Yharnam, Cainhurst or other hints of the world she had known. Nothing. The second library had contained a large map of the known world, and a single glance was enough to tell that this was an entirely different planet. After that, she had asked whether it was possible to travel so far, and had gotten answers reaching from claiming such feats to be simply impossible to telling her that the very highest powers of the arcane might allow such feats. Given how much greater the amount of magic was in this world, the thought of what might constitute the highest echelons of that power was nothing short of frightening. Direct facts, on that had all the people asked agreed, could only be found in the towers of the Wizard's Guild, the Dominion Arcane, and they were known to guard their secrets with jealousy and paranoia.  
  
As such, it was a frustrated Maria who approached the Pride of the March that evening. The bouncers at the entrance gave her one strict look before letting her pass, gesturing for the sign that mentioned this being a private club. It was almost full on the inside, dozens of men and women, all of martial professions judging by their looks, drinking and talking, and a few had even made space to dance. Maria headed straight for the bar, sitting down on one of the last empty stools.  
  
The barkeep looked every bit the retired old soldier, grizzled, scarred and still wearing old, but well maintained heavy armor even in this profession. He gave her a somewhat annoyed look. "This is a private club, and I don't know. One drink, then you leave."  
  
"Is Captain Lockwill here? He mentioned this a place to meet him." Maria looked at the signs above the liquor cabinets. "I fear I cannot afford a drink."  
  
Now the old soldier squinted at her, his expression downright hostile. Then, his face softened abruptly. "Wait, don't tell me you're the one Ryan talked about all evening yesterday. The one who saved his bacon out there."  
  
"I would not exaggerate my part that much. Captain Lockwill and his men fought well."  
  
"Tell me, lass, what is you favourite poison?"  
  
Being addressed like this brought the hint of a smile to Maria's face. He thought her to be as young as she looked. For a moment, she considered to tell him that she was easily four times his age, but doing so would be unwise.  
  
"A glass of whiskey would do nicely."  
  
The barkeep snorted and handed her a whole bottle in addition to a glass. "With regards from the house. Captain Lockwill is over at the corner table to the right."  
  
It was true. Once Maria had weaseled her way through the mass of people, she could see Lockwill sitting at the table in question. With him were two men and a woman in the same Waymarch uniform, all three faces she had seen the day before, and another woman clad in furs and a silver cuirass she had not seen.  
  
As she approached, the unknown woman rose up shakily, clearly having had a fair few drinks already, and did her best to muster a serious face. "My gratitude to you. Were not for your aid, I would have to search my husband in the halls of Valhalla." With that said, she fell back into her chair next to Lockwill, pulling him into an embrace.  
  
"Introduction time then", Lockwill said as he untangled himself from her arms. "Lady Maria, this is my wife, Astrid. You met Lieutenant Winston, from second platoon, and of course Jarric and Liza, whose relationship is the companies most well known secret."  
  
Winston rose his glass to a toast, while Jarric and Liza both blushed, and the table, both simultaneously kicked Lockwill in the shin.  
  
"Thank you, Captain Lockwill. I hope my presence is not disrupting."  
  
"Don't bother with the rank, you saved my skin and I'm off duty. Just Ryan will do. And your presence is most welcome here."  
  
"In that case, good thing I got more whiskey."  
  
From the corner of her eye, Maria saw to other guests abruptly taking their leave. She was tempted to investigate when a refilled glass was set down in front of her.  
  
"You ssssaved them. Means, you... you're a tough one. Time toooooo... show it again!" Astrid was even deeper into her cups, but had fierce determination in her eyes. So Maria picked up the glass and sniffed. Fairly strong stuff, but made to be consumed by unaugmented humans. She smiled and knocked the glass back.  
  
The unaugmented part or the human part, one of the two had to be reconsidered. The stuff was monstrously strong, the honey like taste almost blurred about by the alcohol itself. Maria coughed once and put the glass down, looking at impressed faces.  
  
"It does... pack a punch. Though I prefer this." She quickly filled her glass withbthe regular whiskey before Astrid could reach for the bottle of alcoholic death.  
  
"We should leave soon enough", Lockwill said. Seeing the question on Jarric's face, he continued. "Astrid gets into fighting mood as the booze slows, and that is not tolerated here."  
  
"Old sergeant is no fun," Astrid pouted. "A party without a proper brawl, how is that even a party?"  
  
The door of tavern opened again, and two men entered, one wearing a Waymarch uniform, the other a fancy merchant's garb. Both made for Lockwill's table instantly.  
  
"What is it, Morton?", the captain asked, keeping his voice remarkably steady.  
  
"Heard the lady was here." The soldier bowed to Maria before handing her a package. "We owe you dozens of lifes, and while the company can't truly repay that debt, we can try. Please, open it."  
  
Maria did, revealing a small wooden crate. Inside, she found a simple, yet elegant parrying dagger in a fitting scabbard. She took it out, a finely balanced weapon, if not of the shape she was really used to.  
  
"Put your thumb on the rune on the hilt", the soldier said, and as Maria did, blue arcs of lightning crackled along the blade.  
  
"Thanks", she said plainly, unsure how to react otherwise. "This is a fine blade, and sure to be useful."  
  
The soldier nodded and stepped away, making place for the merchant. "What my friend here spoke of also holds true for us, and proper merchants pay for aid in times of need." He produced a pouch from his belt and placed it on the table. "We didn't know your rate, so we went with the highest any of us had payed sellswords, and guessed in regards to the orc bounty. Make good use of it." He tapped his cap and left.  
  
Grateful, but unwilling to rub rewards into the face of those who had also fought and bled in similar ways with many dead and no such pay, she quickly pocketed both and rose her glass once more.  
  
Outside, the night was cold as the group of six made their way through the darkened streets. Astrid had mentioned knowing another place with stronger drinks and fewer rules, and had proven as convincing as always. Ryan thanked Tykee for letting him meet his wife these fourteen years ago, even if he was far less of a drinker than she was. At least, the cold fresh air did wonders to clear the head. Liza and Winston had both been stumbling when they left the club, and had now found save footing again. For all her drinking, Astrid seemed to be almost back to her usual state, and if Lady Maria had been effected by the alcohol at all, she showed no signs. Jarric and Ryan himself had been more careful with the booze, following the tradition of keep at least one person moderately sober, and the hard learned lesson that one was rarely enough.  
  
"We're being followed", Lady Maria whispered suddenly. Ryan froze immediately and listened intently. He heard nothing strange, but this did not sound like a joke, and his fears were confirmed when Jarric too tensed up. Just a few moments later, Ryan could also hear it, armored boots moving towards them, both from front and back, and with that, figures came into view from the side alleys, blocking the street in front and behind. Four behind, six in front, and Ryan could tell these were no lowly ruffians. All of them were female, as far as he could tell, and all of them had weapons drawn. They wore robes, though the bulk and stiffness under these spoke of armor.  
  
Ryan glanced at his own party and cursed. Bard's Gate was quite a save city most of the time, so Jarric, Liza and Winston all wore no armor save the Waymarch gambeson. Not the worst, but so much less than steel. He himself wore a mithral chain shirt under his surcoat, a prize taken from the field a few years ago, and one that had served quite well. The weapon situation had the same issue: Complying with city law and general comfort, Jarric did not carry his crossbow, Liza and Winston both lacked shields, and Ryan had left his poleaxe in the barracks. They all were down to swords and daggers. Astrid was better served in that regard, the culture of her homeland placing emphasis on being always ready of battle, and so she wore both chainmail and cuirass. While her sword alone was not too impressive a weapon, her divine powers would more than make up the deficit. Lady Maria was the wildcard in his analysis, with no armour heavier than a leather coat and a two blade combination well suited for dueling but not the battlefield, she seemed even more screwed than the rest. On the other hand, he had seen her fight, and if that was her normal form, she was far deadly than the rest of their group combined. Still, some part of him clung to the hope that his theory would not be put to the test.  
  
The folly of tempting fate.

One of the shrouded, armored figures stepped forward, shield and sword risen. "In the name of good and justice, halt! There is a blight in your midst, a corrupted monster, a creature of blackest evil! Stand down soldiers, we will remove this stain from Bard's Gate. Do not for fall for her deceptions!" Each word carried the conviction of the fanatic, and was underlined with a stare of pure contempt aimed squarely at Lady Maria.  
  
"What are you talking about?", Ryan snarled in return, reaching for his weapon and finding mild comfort as Astrid and the others did the same. Only Maria remained motionless.  
  
"Can you smell the taint of her wickedness? The darkness she oozes with every breath? Then you are blind, soldier. Step aside."  
  
"Do you have any proof for this allegations?" Ryan did not expect to see any evidence presented, but if he delayed this long enough, the watch might hear of this.  
  
"The Goddess of Honor and Virtue is my witness! It is by her blessing that we can see her wickedness. You have been deceived!"  
  
"A load of elkshit, that's what this is!" In times like this, Ryan was unsure whether to laugh or cry about his wife's temper. As diplomatic and subtle as the stories of the Northlanders said. With her mounting anger, even her old accent came back to the surface. "Honor and virtue, pah! Jumpin' a group of friends in the dark, after a feast, with twice the number and clad for war? Children tossing goat shit have more honor than yer sorry milksobs, and more spine too. Not even the guts to admit ye're thieves! Pathetic!"  
  
The face of the enemy speaker took turned red with rage, and her compatriots began to move when another voice rose.  
  
"I know not what you sense, and I know nothing of you, but I do know I have no quarrel with you." Between snarling northland rage and hammy fanaticism, Maria's calm, even voice was like music. "I intend not harm to this city or these people, but I will defend myself. For now, this is just words. It will not be my responsibility if you take this any further."  
  
"Pretty words you can speak, and pretty words can be just lies. We sense what you are, spawn of evil, and no platitudes mask that truth. For the last time soldiers, leave this monster to us!"  
  
Now Ryan drew his weapon, and the others followed suit. "The soldiers of Waymarch do not repay kindness with treachery, and will not walk away from friends in danger. For the first and only time, kindly, fuck off!"  
  
As the lead fanatic waved her blade in the attack signal, Maria spoke again, voice barely more than a whisper. "All of you, break through their back. I'll handle the front."  
  
Ryan nodded, spun around and charged. As much as his principles demanded not to leave anyone in a fight one against six, here it was a sound choice. The four enemies in their rear were surprised to be on the receiving end of a charge, and more so when two of them yelled prayers and challenges without any result.  
  
Paladins! These idiots had to be paladins, just now realising their usual smiting powers did not work against Astrid, Ryan and the soldiers, none of them being of a heart black enough for this power to function. Bereft of their perhaps greatest weapon and suddenly aware that their foes were not the scum of the earth, they hesitated, and they payed for it. Jarric was the first to score a hit, the magus raising a hand to fire a large magical icicle at the lead paladin. She staggered back as he projectile smashed into her cuirass, and as she did, Liza dove forward, knocked her mace aside and jammed a dagger into her left eye socket.  
  
Ryan baited his own opponent, giving her an opening to slash at his gut and trusting in the mithral to stop the blade from gutting him. It did, turning a deadly strike into a momentary inconvenience, and in turn, Ryan, holding his sword in a halfsword grip, smashed the crossguard of the weapon into his foe's temple. She was dazed, but not down, so he struck her again in much the same manner, and this time she fell. While neither Ryan nor his comrades had any desire to fight these paladins, that was nowhere near enough to make them pull their punches.  
  
To his right, Winston had been in more trouble. His first thrust, aimed high for the throat, had been soundly deflected, and while he had parried the first retaliatory strike, the second had slipped through his guard and hit him in the rips. With the heavy gambeson on, it was not an immediately fatal hit, but certainly a few broken rips. Astrid took his place, and in contrast to the hampered paladin, the powers Freya bestowed on her priestess were in full effect. It took but a few divinely empowered blows before this fight was over. Meanwhile, Ryan turned to the remaining enemy, who had so far managed to fend off Liza and Jarric, if barely. So distracted, she did not notice Ryan and flanking her until he drove his sword into her armpit. There were places and times for knights to be honorable, a street fight past midnight was not just not one of them.  
  
  
Though Maria had not lied when she had claimed not to know what ticked these people off, it was not difficult to guess. In every culture she had heard of outside of Cainhurst, the rites performed in the old castle were considered to be pure evil. Not without reason had her people been known as the Vilebloods, and this had part of the reasons for her to flee her heritage. And even in another world, her cursed bloodline was putting her in danger.  
  
Six humans were how advancing against her, just like her last battle in the clocktower. While their number was the same, her foes were quite different: Clad in heavy armor rather than just fabric and leather, their weapons simple and mundane compared to the tools of the workshop, their purpose united by fanatical devotion rather than the convenience that made most hunters form a pack.  
  
The assessment for their weaponry was the first notion to be proven false. As one, her enemies spoke a short prayer, and as one, every weapon in their hands began to glow. In part, it was similar to Ludwig's Moonlight Sword, but where that weapon had carried the moonlight it had been named for, the light infusing these weapons was of a bright golden colour. To make matters worse, an aura of similar appearance took shape around her enemies' bodies. Protective arcana and infused weapons meant these women were a greater threat than the orcs had been with their crude steel and enormous strength.  
  
Still, Maria was holding back in the beginning. She moved slowly backwards, and as the paladins followed, she drew pallasch and pistol, tricked the blade and fired with both weapons. The two paladins in the middle dropped, both having kneecaps shattered by bullets. Their comrades did not even break stride as they pressed on, and though gasping in agony, one of the fallen pressed her hand onto the bleeding wound. A flash brighter golden light lasted for a moment, and when the paladin pulled the hand away, her wound had disappeared. Some had called blood vials a miracle, this world made them look downright mundane.  
  
Regenerating targets required a change of strategy. Maria stopped her retreat and instead moved forward, holstering her pistol and drawing the newly gifted dagger for the first time in earnest.  
  
Four paladins charged as one, pressing their assault from four different angles to try and force some hits through. Maces and swords charged with golden light reached for Maria and found only empty space. For all their apparent magics and the power it might provide, their wielders were still human, and even bolstered by their smiting powers granted by the goddess Muir, were unable to touch Gehrman's finest student.  
  
The retort came promptly. Maria dashed out of the forming encirclement and slashed at the leftmost target, her blade moving in a blur. Its struck the golden aura of her enemy, and for a moment, Maria worried the barrier might deflect it. But whatever this power was, it was not strong enough. Once her weapon had entered into the aura, it was slowed, as if making the same movement under water. Though it took away much of the force behind the attack, it did not stop the blow Rather than the decapitation Maria had aimed for, her blade hit merely slashed into the paladins throat, not quite deep enough for a deadly wound. A swift backhand corrected that, and her target slumped, one hand attempting to staunch the blood streaming from the gash. With a third slash, Maria ensured no healing handd would take place by chopping of the hand in question.  
  
By now, the two she had shot were both back on their feet and pressed onwards as well. Yet more strikes from all sides, and Maria returned in kind, stabbing one in the neck and severing an arm holding a mace.  
  
Armored fingers clamped down around her left wrist, and a burning pain raced through her arm. Somehow ignoring the horrific wound, the one Maria had just stabbed held on with all strength and channeled her holy power at the same time, and while Maria swiftly ripped her arm free, she was not quite swift enough. The dying woman's companions seized a chance given, and a glowing sword slashed down, hitting the arm Maria was just pulling away. Sanctified steel carved through her hardened flesh with unnatural ease, slicing the limb open from elbow to wrist.  
  
Though hissing in pain, Maria was hardly done. Any hints of restraint or remorse about fighting humans rather than beasts left, together with the blood leaking from her wound. Her foes had traded two lives for one severe wound. If Gehrman had seen her fight like this, the disappointment in his old eyes would have hurt more than any hit these foes were able to land. With a deep breath, she focused on the First Hunter's teachings, and used her Quickening powers to their full extent, if only for a moment.  
  
In a blink, three of the four paladins fell, a severed femoral artery here, a slashed throat there, and a thrust to the heart in the middle. Maria stood between them, perfectly still, her red-dripping pallasch held out to the side as one by one, three armored bodies hit the bloody cobblestones each with an ignoble "thunk".  
  
Her last attacker looked into her eyes and saw only death. Still, the fanatic held firm, shield and warhammer raised. Maria took a slow step forward, then another, radiating as much menace as she could. Behind her, she heard her companions fighting the rearward group of enemies, but she paid no mind to it.  
  
Shouts and the sound of dozens of heavy steps approaching rapidly did snap her out of her almost-trance. Another two dozen armored figures had surrounded the site of the brawl, a motley mixture that Maria recognized as many of the patrons of the Pride of the March. Though many showed signs of the drinks they had downed, they were clearly ready to fight, and more importantly, their weapons were not pointed at her.  
  
"What is this bullshit?! Have a all of lost your fucking minds?! Weapons down, you imbeciles! All of you!"  
  
She had to give it to the old barkeep, he did a good job with the drill sergeant voice, and so she followed the bark. Looking back, she saw that two of the four ambushers fighting Lockwill and his crew here still alive, and she let out a sigh of relief seeing all her companions still breathing, with only Winston being significantly wounded and said wound being attended by more of the healing magics of this world.  
  
"Do not make terrible mistake! This woman is a monster, a spawn of darkness!" No one seemed to mind Maria's opponent screaming these and many similar words, and soon after, the three surviving paladins were all shackled and handed over to a couple of watchmen way out of their depth.  
  
"Just get back to the club, and have a few drinks on the house", the old barkeep told Maria. "And let someone have a look at that." He pointed at her bloody arm, and Maria just nodded.  
  
It was quiet in the club, the patrons either gone home or going with the watch. As soon as the door closed, Maria felt more of the bright, uncomfortable magic, and the holy symbol Astrid carried began to glow. "Hold still", the priestess said. "Let me remove that wound." Instead, Maria quickly stepped away and rose a hand. "Don't. Whatever that magic is, it is not good for me."  
  
Despite her confused expression, Astrid let the magic disappate. "That adds to the explaining you have to do then."  
  
"What explaining exactly? Can't say I like the sound of that."  
  
Astrid's strict expression softened a little. "Look, something like this doesn't just happens. Those Muir worshippers may have a stick so far up their arses that it pokes out when they talk, but they usually don't go for ambushing partygoers in the night. Way out of character. And I can tell those paladins believed what they claimed about you, and more than that, their powers worked. Smiting evil only affects those who are evil or in some way tainted by it. And I saw what you did. Holy powers or not, you tore through them like parchment. Had you opened with that thing you did in the end, they would have all died without even scratching you. Now you refuse healing magic on grounds of discomfort few living beings can even feel. Not to mention the injury on your arm was one that would have let to you bleeding out if not treated soon, and by now, it's almost healed up." The priestess took a deep breath. "I am not accusing you of any malice. You saved my husband, and had our back out there. But all these things add up to something very fishy."

Before Maria could think of a well measured answer, heavy steps approached the door. She spun around, and as the others did the same, three men entered the room. Their leader wore the robes of a city official and carried a sheet of paper in his hands, while his two followers were soldiers in full plate armor and green surcoats proudly showing the sigil of Bard's Gate, a white lyre.  
  
"I am Undermagistrate Remon Garit. In the name of the people of Bard's Gate and in the pursuit of justice, you are hereby under arrest. Any resistance to this is a crime and will be considered admission of all charges against you." The magistrate glared had Maria, and his soldiers moved forward, one unhooking a set of manacles from his belt. Maria considered her options as she took a step back. No doubt she could cut down all three before they even knew what was coming. Yet doing so would just a certainly bring trouble for Lockwill and the others, and she wished for them not to be harmed.  
  
"Can't do that, Undermagistrate." Lockwill spoke slowly and with great deliberation, and this gave the Lyreguard pause. "The Lady Maria is a foreign national of noble blood serving in the armies of the Duchy of Waymarch. Under the treaty between our nations, she may at most be placed under house arrest within her residence, unless the Duke's ambassador has given explicit permission for harsher means."  
  
The displeasure of the magistrate was quite obvious, but Garit still nodded. "Fine, sir knight. House arrest until the trial or word from the consulate. Lady Maria, you must still come with us, and the statement regarding resistance still holds true. Do you have a legal council in the city?"  
  
"No." Maria went with them, not saying another word. Knowing nothing of the laws of Bard's Gate, silence seemed the best choice. Maybe twenty minutes later, she was back in her room at the Six Candles, now with two fully armored Lyreguard outside the door.  
  
She could have fled, by sneaking out of a window or by hacking her way through anyone in her path, but didn't. Part of it was simple and clearly unwise curiosity, the rest up to her own conscience, as fleeing would sooner or later require her to fight regular people who only tried to keep their home save, and Maria had no intention of slaughtering even one innocent guard unless forced. Some part of her still held onto slivers of her old pride, remnants of both her childhood lessons and her career as Yharnam's top monsterslayer. Yet for now, the calmer part of her mind prevailed, and so she just waited.

  



	6. A wolf in Carterscroft/Bard's Gate too

The climate in Eastreach had been tense for some time, but in the last few days, it had gotten properly ugly. After years of bribing away all supervision and preying on their citizens, the local nobility had by some means angered their masters in Courghais. Rumours about what the Overking would do to them were everywhere, reaching from demands for higher bribes all the way to an invasion from another province, and just about everything in between.

For Ifan Ben-Mezd, the situation was currently an advantage. If panic on the rise, the few local authorities still caring about upholding law and order were too busy keeping the larger settlements under control to search for sole fugitives like him, and thanks to their rampant corruption, their were unlikely to aid the Divine Order. Which still left the Lone Wolves on his trail. He had not chosen to be infused with this strange and dangerous magic, and so far, he had not found much use for it either. Yet someone with bottomless coffers had put an open contract on the heads of all touched by the Source, and that had been enough to be cast out from the pack and have a target on his back. Two other Lone Wolves had already tried to collect and found Ifan unsuitable prey. No doubt more would try the same, and those would be better prepared. He could only hope the message sent to Vermis had reached Cyril, probably the last friend he had left. Their bond was older than their membership in the Lone Wolves, and his last hope. No man could run alone forever.

So he stayed in Carterscroft, in the Yellow Dog Inn, keeping a low profile as he had so often. Of course, the handful of other patrons had started to give him nervous looks. He had to change is hiding spot soon.

* * *

After three calm days on the road, Vlad sensed movement two both sides of the column, about a hundred meters away. Another two hundred meters ahead, a tight group of trees stood just beside the road.

"Movement to the sides, and good cover ahead. We have found the ambush you suspected," he whispered to Cyril. "Time to turn the surprise around."

He drew his sword. "Watch out! Hidden foes to both sides!" Even with his lack of formal authority, the commanding tone did its duty, and several other knights also drew weapons, just as the hints of movements turned into groups of cloaked figures aiming bows. A second later, the first volley was loosened, and even with the hasty aim, several arrows found their mark. A horn blared, and the group of trees simply vanished, the illusion having outlived its usefulness and revealing formation of heavy cavalry, who promptly lowered their lances and charged.

Derlac's troops responded, two groups of about twenty speeding off to go for the archers, the rest turning to face the enemy charge headon. Vlad and Cyril both stayed with the latter group, if only because Derlac was also there. The old noble barked orders, and the formation accelerated. A fireball was launched from the back rank of the enemy, and four knights and horses fell, a second fireball being dispelled on approach by one of Derlac's assistants.

No more magic found time to be used as both groups collided, armored horses and riders crashing into each other in massive tangle of limbs and noise. Cyril opened fire with a twin pistol in both hands, felling two targets before dropping the empty weapons for his saber and a third pistol. Vlad chopped down his first opponent, and turned to face the second when a lance impaled the head of his horse with a shower of blood and brains. Jumping of, he swiped his blade through the legs of the next enemy mount before decapitating the rider, adding yet more blood to ever growing mess.

The battle did not go well for Derlac's men. Outnumbered and unprepared. they fell in greater number, each second increasing the enemy advantage. If the flanking squads had done away with the archers quickly, turning the tide might have been possible, but these archers were no mere rabble and were not so easily removed, keeping up their volleys right until they were forced to scatter and draw blades. If he wished to use Derlac, Vlad would have to win this, and subtlety was no longer an option. With a sigh, he stopped holding back, both on his abilities and the bloodlust in the back of his mind.

The sheer, animalistic joy of it was almost overwhelming. Free of these self imposed constrains, Vlad tore through the next couple of enemies, sacrificing advanced technique for savage brutality. Wide arching swipes became the norm, the type of attack so often made by those utterly untrained in swordsmanship. But when each strike could chop the target in two with barely any loss of momentum, even against victims in plate armor, they instead became gruesomely efficient, every swing cutting down two or three foes with little trouble, at a speed and carrying a strength mortal men were physically incapable of stopping. It took a few moments before the ambushers noticed the change, and by that time, more then a dozen of them were but newly butchered meat. A handful tried to face the rampaging monster and were slaugthered for their valor, while most turned back in horror. Cyril wisely shifted out of the way as Vlad leaped forward again, his cursed blade slicing in all directions and spraying blood over the few who got out of range.

To suddenly face a nightmarish monster in addition to the knights they had expected broke the morale of the attackers quite thoroughly, and while a handful of their number managed to disengage, most of the survivors were cut down on the run. With the immediate threat gone, Vlad forced his inner beast back and turned to those supposedly on his side. They looked almost as badly mauled as the opposition, just over a quarter of their original number still alive. The groups charging the archers had chased them down, though many of them had been shot dead during the charge. Of the cavalry clash, Cyril, Derlac and four other knights were left beside him, and all of them had seen the carnage Vlad a wrought on his own. Seeing expectations confirmed, Cyril largely kept his fear in check. On the other hand, Derlac looked like he had when first meeting Vlad, almost as pale as the vampire, his sword trembling in his hands. Two of the four knights had moved back, just regaining some self control, while the other two grabbed their weapons tighter and stood their ground. Vlad simply glared at them, daring them to make a move.

"Seems we won this time. Perhaps we should check how many of our guys are still alive?" Cyril's voice was shaking, but it did knock Derlac out of his shock.

"Wise words from a sellword." The noble turned to his surviving knights. "Get to that, men."

Reluctantly, the four knights heeded the order, though they hardly were able to take their eyes off Vlad. In turn, the vampire demonstratively turned his gaze away from them, instead watching the flank squads returning to the road.

"I see now I made the right choice, sir. Might have gotten into real trouble here without you." There was still fear in his choice, but the smile Cyril showed appeared to be genuine. "An impressive display indeed."

"No need to flatter me, Cyril. You gave a good show yourself, without revealing any of your secrets."

The mercernary shrugged. "True. But if you had not done that, I would have been forced to drop the mask, and even then, I would have faced less than ideal odds. As it is, I'd say this is the best result of a less than ideal situation."

"For you, perhaps. You will show your true self soon enough."

"Won't pretend to like that thought, sir, but if you want, I can do that once we have fewer onlookers. Don't hold you breath, it's not that much to see."

Tallying up the aftermath took another hour, and by the end of it, eleven knights were still in fighting condition, with another eight clinging to life but barely able to stay on their horses. At this point, Derlac began to hand out healing potions, and ten minutes later, the survivors were on the move again. Burying a hundred dead bodies was something Derlac's schedule did not allow for, despite some protestations from the knights. As far as the noble was concerned, a speedy mission was more important than disease prevention or respect for the fallen.

That evening, Derlac sought out Vlad as the group made camp.

"You weren't lying about being worth your pay."

Vlad remained silent, hoping the man would get to the point. His true nature so revealed might give the noble wrong ideas.

"It happens the rest of my mission will benefit greatly of someone like you after we made it to Carterscroft. You spoke of needing access to an arcane library, so I propose this: You keep doing what is needed, and I get a team on the research you need."

Now the vampire turned to the noble, his gaze threatening death. "Are you attempting to change the terms our deal?"

"No! Of course not. I am merely making a suggestion. There is much to be gained in my service."

"I already saved your hide, and I am quite confident in my own research ability. So no, my duty to you is done once we enter the city, and we will part ways there."

Anger flashed on the noble's face for a moment, and he was about to burst into a rant before realizing how suicidal that might turn out to be.

"Is there anything I can offer to keep you at my side for a few days in the city?", Derlac said, his casual tone bristling with insincerity.

"Perhaps. Are you able to have someone located via magic, even at great distance?"

Derlac beamed at that. "Yes! Once in Carterscroft, I will be able to give suitable orders to the local wizards! Whoever you are searching will be found!"

"Success in this gets you two days of my time. I suggest you use that well."

"To aid in the process, it would be helpful if you had anything belonging to the person in question..."

"... which I will had over directly to the wizard in question." His tone made clear it was not up for debate, and Derlac accepted it and left. The man would be trouble, his pride hurt by the lack of deference. Vlad had seen it before, rulers so used to getting their way that any refusal was met with slowly festering hatred or even violent rage. No matter. The lord would do his part and leave Vlad alone after that, or Derlac would be a bloody fate. As for the four knights who had also witnessed his abilities, he was far more hesitant. Killing them would be suitable in theory, but doing so would certainly turn Derlac into an enemy, not to mention that they had not made any moves against him and fought by his side before. For all people might accuse Vlad of, he would not betray allies unless forced to do so.

Be it a blessing, fate or limited enemy resources, the one ambush was the sum of fighting along the way, and three days after the encounter, Carterscroft came into view. About half the size of Vermis, it was still a large city, walled and crowned with banners. Lord Derlac had enough clout to get his group through the gates on short notice and swiftly brought his men to their quarters in the city garrison. At that point, Cyril quietly split of to find the friend he was looking for, and Derlac again turned to Vlad.

"There will be a meeting with the provincial governor this evening. I want you be my side, nothing out of the ordinary. The head of the Wizard's Guild will be there too, and will receive the order aid your search once the other matters are discussed."

* * *

Ifan had been waiting in the nameless, low rent tavern for the last two days, and had been close to abandoning this one too when the door opened and his old friend walked in. Forcing himself to keep quiet, he hardly reacted as Cyril set down at the same table, looking Ifan up and down with curious eyes.

"You mentioned trouble, no details. What is going on, Ifan? Vagueness doesn't suit you."

He sighed. "I have been cast out from the Lone Wolves, because I am apparently touched by some unknown dangerous magic. There is an open contract on everyone touched by this "Source", and I killed two of the pack already, when they tried to collect. I need you help, in all possible ways. I'm sorry."

Cyril blinked. "So it is really bad. Figured as much, hoped I was wrong. No matter. I found someone who might be able to help us." Something in his friend's tone worried Ifan.

"And who would that be?"

"His name is Vlad, or so he claims at least. Foreigner, uses a translation spell to talk. Highborn type, and" , Cyril shuddered at the thought, "monstrously dangerous without effort."

"Given how many dangerous people both of us have met, that is saying something."

"I know. I have heard many tales of great heroes, and seen plently of monsters. This one turned two dozen knights into raven fodder in the time I needed for two, with a blade alone and without breaking a sweat. Seemed to think it an amusing sport, and did not transform much, just fangs, talons and glowy eyes. Haven't seen him properly angry, and hope I never will. But he agreed to help me help you in exchange for my service."

"Thank you. For what you did, and what you will do."

"Don't worry about it. We saved each other's bacon a dozen times over. If the Lone Wolves cast you out, I want nothing to do with them."

"Well is that not a nice admission? Rarely are traitors so brazen!" A sneering voice, regrettably familiar. Stepping over the threshold came its owner, a dwarf with a face only a parent could have loved, flanked by an elf in chainmail and another dwarf in splint, with at least one more figure hiding behind them in the cover of the doorframe. "Not just one, but two who betray the pack. Should get double rewards too. It's almost a pity, you both did passable work back in the day."

Good thing Wornem Henk was still such a pompous piece of work. By the time he had finished his little speech, Cyril and Ifan both were ready for a fight.

Ifan was the first to act. Since his youth, the crossbow had been his favored weapon, and with the coin of a sucessful assassin, he had made sure his best tool was heavily enchanted. Thanks to this magic and the clockwork mechanism build into the weapon, loading took but the flip of a switch, even with the full power of an arbalest. The trigger pull came with practiced ease, and the armored elf stumbled back, the bolt piercing the shield he rose in front of his chest and impaling the arm holding it. To his side, Cyril fired four shots at Henk, all of them hitting the chest of the other dwarf as he jumped in front of his boss, punching through steel and tearing flesh. The dwarf did not fall. Froth spilled from his mouth and he charged, ignoring what should be fatal wounds, ripping a greatsword from his scabbard. Henk drew two hatcheds and charged as well, a human with a greataxe barging in behind him, while another human and a half elf leaned through the doorframe and loosened arrows. One missed, the other landed a glancing hit on Cyril's shoulder, tearing through his clothes before bouncing of the skin. A second of dumbfounded shock cost the archer her life was Ifan put his second bolt into her forehead. The other patrons, a handful of poor drunkards and low level criminal scum, screamed and ran.

Though resistant to damage, his friend was hardly invulnerable, and in the clash against Henk and the other dwarf, he was swiftly put on the defensive, giving ground in exchange for time. The surviving archer shot at Ifan, making him dive for cover, a process that knocked the crossbow from his grasp. Seeing the opening, the axeman swifted his charge, running at the prone man with his weapon raised high and no regard for defense.

Despite all the arguments in their favour, Ifan had never preferred firearms. Reliability issues and high prices were one thing, but the true issue was how rare they were. They gained attention, even when not used, and few mages knew how to properly enchant them. Yet he had seen the advantage they had as backup weapons, and so he drew the his pistol from the holster in his coat and shot the axeman through the throat. He jumped up, blinking away the red smear from his eyes, and went for his sword before rushing into the ongoing melee. By know, Cyril was bleeding from half a dozen smaller wounds, and had in turn gotten a few cuts in on Henk. For the most part, he was busy evading the frenzied chopping of the berserker. A task done long enough when Ifan arrived and stabbed that particular dwarf in the back of the neck. That left Wornem Henk, and while the man was a blundering fool, he did not go down easy. Henk scored a hit on Cyril's leg, the hatched biting all the way to the bone, and Cyril fell to one knee, just as the other hatched parried the stirke Ifan had aimed at the Lone Wolf's face.

A hand fell onto Henk's shoulder, a gesture that would have looked affectionate were it not for the results. Wounds opened underneath the fingers, as if invisible daggers were jammed in the dwarf. With Henk distracted, Ifan attacked again, and this time hit his mark. With his head almost parted from his body, Wornem Henk died . Somewhat restored by the same magic he had used to injure Henk, Cyril forced himself to rise again, just as Ifan picked up his fallen crossbow. The surviving archer had apparently fled by now.

"We have to get of here." Ifan peaked out the door, checking for more enemies and finding none.

"No shit old man." Wincing in pain, Cyril made a hasty limp to the door as well. "Let's just hope someone keeps the watch busy."

* * *

The Lord Governor of Eastreach was not pleased to see Derlac and his entourage in his throne room, and everyone could tell as much. The hall was filled to the brim with various nobles and officials, as well as more than thirty guards. In contrast, Derlac had only brought Vlad and two of his knights with him, yet if he was intimidated by this display, he concealed it well.

"I am Lord Roderick Derlac, chosen emissary of the Overking, long may he reign, to the government of the Imperial Province of Eastreach. I shall not keep you waiting. By degree of the Overking's court, you, governor Meridiac, are hereby removed from office and arrested on charges of corruption, treasonous mismanagement of imperial finances and conspirary with foreign powers! By the same decree, until a true replacement is found, I will be acting governor of Eastreach!" To stiffle the cries of outrage, Derlac held up his chain of office with hand and an official looking letter with the order. A lot of shouting ensued.

Vlad ignored it. There was something else, a faint whiff of a magic he knew. Well concealed, subtle, yet unmistakable to him. Somewhere in the crowd was one of Neferata's spawn. He closed his eyes, focused more on the thin strands of magic. There. Weak, but indeniable- To the left of the deposed governor, who was having a screaming match with Derlac. An elegantly dressed noble lady, her face hidden by a veil. Knowing on whom to focus, it was much easier to tell. A heartbeat to slow for any living human, and that miniscule difference in her movements. The grace of the lioness, not the gazelle. Only one way to go about this. A threat of this nature had to be removed before she tried to do the very same.

* * *

Gina deGife had stormed to her room in rage. Not enough for the Queen to send her through to this miserable land, a different world even, while the sylvanians were still not punished fully. No, now that aging fool had to crash her plans for this place like that! It had taken much time to get close to Lord Meridiac, the man was as paranoid as any career criminal and both more fearful of the undead and better educated about them than most. And now some jumped up crook from the capital of this excuse for an empire just marched in and the fool did not even have the spine to fight! Truly, it was a miserable time for the sisterhood. Their losses in the actual Empire had been crippling, would take centuries to repair. The retaliation campaign against Sylvania had turned into an embarrassing disaster due to an previously unknown warlord by the name of Maldred Rabenkron, and of the two fellow Lahmians asigned to this land only reachable by dangerous rituals, one had promptly ran off in betrayal, and the other had slipped up and got killed for it.

In her rage, Gina did not notice the man sneaking up on her. There was only an immense, sudden and burning pain in her chest as sword was thrust right through her torso from behind, both severing spinal cord and aorta, then a second, lesser pain as fangs dug into her neck.

Vlad did not have much time and the result were as jumbled as expected. Even under the best circumstances, stealing memories by blood drain was unreliable, and doing a hatchet job in a corridor with no preparations was hardly optimal, just slightly better than an open battlefield. Still, this one had known many an interesting thing, and he would make the best of it. Learning that It was at possible to return to the world he knew was already worth the risk taken here, and with this stolen memory, he would be able to find the place, given time. Actually reaching his old homeworld would be a wholly different challenge.

Leaving the cold body behind, Vlad swiftly made his way back to his own chambers. Before dealing with this, he had given Lady Maria's dagger to the wizards of this city, and their leader had promised first results come morning. Derlac had tried to stall, but a glare of sufficient wrath had silenced the man. At least the accomodations were nice.

He had barely closed the door when he heard someone running down the corridor and knocking against the wood.

"What is it?", he called, wondering if this was about the corpse of the Lahmia.

"Sir von Carstein, there are two men looking for you. One claims to be your servant, and they were attacked!".

"Bring them here!" He sighed. Cyril must have really gotten into trouble if he headed to the castle with so little care.

One lock at the mercenary was enough to confirm that. Cyril had suffered at least a dozen minor wounds, and a more severe cut to the leg, making him limp heavily.

"You see sir, there were some issues in town already." Even with the obvious pain, Cyril flashed him a faint smile. "Had to get my friend out the hard way. Lord von Carstein, meet Ifan Ben-Mezd, sharpshooter, ranger and my oldest friend. Ifan, meet Sir Vlad von Carstein, stranger, nightmarish killer, so far a great employer."

Ifan, a middle aged man with many scars and a scruffy, yet handsome appearance, extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, sir." If there was any concern about how Cyril had described his employer, he did not show even a hint.

"Well met. Cyril mentioned trouble, but kept it vague. What is chasing you, exactly?"

"Cyril and I were both part of an assassin's guild called the Lone Wolves. Turned out I have the ability to use Source magic, to a degree. An open contract was placed on Sourcerers, and so the pack turned on me. I knew Cyril would have my back even with that, so I reached out. He mentioned you would be able to help. Doubt that sort of help comes for free though."

Vlad smiled. "True. As it happens, I have a need for people with skills and the heart to use them. You work for me, and I'll help taking down whovever comes for you."

"Sounds fine enough. Warning though, there is some stuff even I won't do."

"Alright." Vlad looked both of them over again. "I suggest both of you find a bath, fresh clothes and the like. We might leave this city in two days."

These two more days in Carterscroft were near enough to drive Vlad to murder. Lord Derlac had demanded his presence for most of the timeframe, to serve as a not even glorified bodyguard against whomever the new governor had slighted. By the glares the old man got, that list contained just about every wealthy person in the city, and many of the poor as well. Yet by virtue of rank both new and old, none of these made an attempt on his life, though all but the blind could see how tempted some of them were. A few times, Vlad found his hand moving for his blade, wondering how the onlookers would react if he simply chopped the nobleman's head off. Quite the number would probably cheer.  
  
At least the preparations for leaving this corrupted cesspool were going well. Cyril and Ifan had both shown themselves to be agents of quality, efficient and with initiative, but plenty of caution. Furthermore, the Magician's Guild had found Lady Maria by their scrying means in the northern free city of Bard's Gate, and by reputation, Bard's Gate would certainly hold more arcane knowledge than Carterscroft.  
  
Of course, two days were far to short to get any meaningful research done. Instead, Vlad had just ordered his retainers to steal as much material as possible, and by means they had not revealed, they had done so quite excellently. With the current mess of a changing governor and a population close to open revolt, the theft had so far gone unnoticed, and by the time Carterscroft calmed, Vlad would be long gone.  
  
"Why don't we just teleport there?", Cyril asked the morning of their departure. "We can afford it, and certainly some wizard in this town nows a colleague there not opposed to making a little extra."  
  
Vlad blinked. "Teleport?"  
  
"Using magic to instantly transport..."  
  
"I know what the term means. An exceedingly rare ability, and dangerous to use."  
  
Cyril shook his head. "Maybe where you are from. In these lands, it is common skill among the higher mages, and perfectly save if you have a magic circle to travel to. Hand a couple hundred coins to the guild here, and we'll be in Bard's Gate in less than an hour."  
  
For a moment, Vlad gave Cyril an incredulous look. He could not sense anything suggesting a deception, and Cyril would be subject to the same spell. Besides, given how all the magic he had encountered here so far had been safer and more common than he had ever believed it to be possible, the assessment was not that outlandish.  
  
Said and done. A short negotiation, some parted cash and a very uncomfortable sensation later, they walked out of a house of a Bard's Gate magician.  
  
"A useful skill, but an unpleasant one", Vlad muttered. It had been centuries since he had felt this sick, but he did not show it to his retainers. A leader had to look strong no matter the actual discomfort. "Do you know the city well?"  
  
"Enough to get by." Cyril looked around. "It's been a few years, but most things should be similar enough. Would suggest the Crimson Cat Inn, no questions asked there."  
  
"That should be enough. I have to take a look at the books you aquired. Meanwhile, try to find where the one I am looking for resides. You know better than me how to achieve that."  
  
The Crimson Cat was a decent inn, not extravagant, but cozy, and the owner did indeed not ask any questions. Still feeling queasy after the teleportation, Vlad went right to his newly rented room. With the door locked, he began to skim over the books his agents had stolen, looking for any reference on teleportation. Nauseating as it might be, it was a skill he wanted to learn, and he had not lied earlier; almost certainly, Cyril and Ifan were better suited to gather information than he was, at least when subtlety was a factor.  
  
It was a fascinating material, to put it lightly. Drenching oneself in conjuration magic like this would have meant a death sentence for all but the most power spellcasters in the Old World, and even the Elves and the servants of Chaos would have struggled greatly. To see the chance for any halfway accomplished wizard to not only perform teleportation at long distances, but to even do it casually, was a sobering reminder not to underestimate the inhabitants of this strange world. If this was what the middle levels of magic here could do, the higher mysteries had to be properly terrifying.

* * *

Dawn had passed when Cyril and Ifan entered the Crimson Cat. Both men looked somewhat concerned, which in turn gave Vlad a hint of worry.

"What is it?", he asked instead of an introduction. "Your faces tell either we are in trouble, or I won't like what you find out."

Cyril looked around nervously. "Second one is right, sir. From what I heard, the lady you're looking for got into some serious legal trouble. Quintuple homicide in a street brawl. Don't know if its true yet, but word around the court is that there is a lot of pressure to make this a hanging case."

"Quintuple homicide?"

"Yes. Defense has not yet been stated officially, and I don't know any location, Whatever this really is, it has riled up a lot of people."

Sensing the fear in his agent's voice, Vlad sighed. "You do not need to fear my wrath in case you bring bad news. Just report what you have learned."

"Not all the impressions she made were bad though", Ifan interjected. He got a thankful look from Cyril, and Vlad could guess this was not the first time these two had reported bad news together, being used to quickly changing emphasis on the conversation.

"Apparently, this "Lady Maria" helped out a caravan that got hit on the Trader's Way by orcs. Did a real number on them, and the survivors are still thankful. Obviously, me asking quesions about this was not well received. Still, I learned who was in command of that caravan. One Captain Ryan Lockwill. Didn't want to go too far, so I got out before they started quesions in turn."

"Good thinking there. I'll do that asking myself tomorrow. If you could be my shadow for it, make sure whatever happens, the dear captain doesn't do something foolish."

* * *

It seemed one misery did not come alone. With the garrison on high alert following the recent orc activity, all soldiers of Waymarch had been called back to active duty. As such, Ryan had taken his place in his office despite the lack of sleep and a severe hangover. He was blessed to have good people with him, people that were kind enough to keep most of the paperwork away for the day.

By the gods, how had this happened? The question had been on his mind as soon as the adrenaline had faded, and he had no idea how to even begin to answer. Paladins of Muir did not go around ambushing groups of friends leaving a bar, the mere idea was preposterous. Anyone serving the goddess of virtue acting like this should have lost any blessings within the first second of the event, and still, some of the powers granted by the goddess had still been used in that fight. COuld it be a ruse? Maybe. It had to be, unless there was truth to the words spoken by the attackers. And if that was true, what dark secrets had they protected last night? Had they been sheltering a monster?

He tried to push all of this out of his mind. Not chance, especially since that very morning, a worried sergeant had spoken of a shady looking man asking questions about Lady Maria, and said man slipping away as soon as he had heard the story from some of the more naive troopers. Just how messy was this going to get? Two weeks ago, Bard's Gate had been considered a largely quiet and pleasant posting. At this rate, what was next? Another Huun invasion? The dead rising again? Not to mention the increasing signs of a brewing orc incursion or the gnolls gathering to the north...

A knock on the door pulled Ryan out of his apocalyptic thoughts. It opened slightly, and one of secretaries poked her head in.  
  
"There is a knight insisting to see you, sir."  
  
He groaned. His headache made any conversation undesirable, yet letting nobility wait tended to cause trouble. So he nodded despite his misgivings.  
  
"Let him in, Jane."  
  
Seeing the man entering his office, Ryan wondered for a moment if he had somehow offended the gods. If one paid an artist to depict a warlord in service of dark powers, the man stepping in could have easily served as a model. Darkly handsome, wearing well cut clothes and heavy armor, a bastard sword at his belt, and a killer's cold eyes. Ryan was not a man to be easily frightened, and still he felt the icy hand of fear grasp his heart. One the plus side, the adrenaline quickly banished his hangover.  
  
"Captain Lockwill, I presume?" A voice fitting the exterior, not unpleasant, but threatening. Without awaiting an answer, the man sank into the chair opposite Ryan.  
  
"Who are you, and what do you want?"  
  
The man smiled, yet there was no warmth in it. "My name is Vlad von Carstein. It has come to my attention that you recently met an acquaintance of mine, the Lady Maria. I came to inquire about her location."  
  
"Then you wasted your time. I do not know you or you intentions, and as such, I will tell you nothing."  
  
Something flared up in Vlad's eyes, and for a moment, Ryan was certain these would be his last words. His hand moved towards the hilt of his sword, and it took all his will to stop the motion. If his words put his life on the line, then drawing a weapon on this man would sign his death warrant. The fear lessened as Vlad gave him a slight nod.  
  
"Honorable of you to keep a lady's secrets. Very well. May I request you deliver a message to the lady then?"  
  
Though he would not trust the man further than he could throw a destrier, the change of attitude was quite welcome. Besides, Lady Maria would have to informed that someone was looking for her anyway, especially someone like this.  
  
"What message would that be?", he asked as he reached for quill and parchment.  
  
"Only that I wonder how she fared since our last encounter, and that would like to meet her again. If she has the wish and the time, I am staying at the Crimson Cat Inn."  
  
Ryan scribbled the message down and sighed. "Alright, I'll have that delivered. Anything else?"  
  
"No, that is all." This time, the smile did reach the eyes of the other man. The result was, if anything, even more unsettling. Without another word, Vlad rose and left.  
  
Outside, Vlad shook his head at thought of that captain. A stubborn mind, utterly resistant to the subtle use of his undead will, and honorable enough at a glance. He could have crushed the man's will with his own had he discarded subtlety, but doing so might have drawn attention. Still, he had achieved what he had attempted. His unnatural senses detected someone else leaving the building with hasty steps, and then, almost imperceivable even for him, another pair of boots following the first. Ifan would follow the messenger to wherever Maria was being held and report back in time.  
  
What kind of action would required here was something he could not yet tell. Vlad would not let the any jumped up magistrate get between him and his goal as a point of principle, and frankly, he owed the lady his support. Short time or not, she had fought by his side and he had not been able to provide assistance then, and that meant a debt to be repaid. Some of his kin might discard all notions of honor and camaraderie and the like, and they were fools for it.

* * *

Stalking a target through the crowded streets of the city was nothing short of relaxing for Ifan, especially since his current mark was clearly not even trying to shake of pursuers. Perhaps the messenger was looking out for Vlad or, since he had been the one to already sneak around the barracks, for Cyril, but Ifan had not reason to believe the man knew of him. And even if the man did, he was out of depth in the attempt. Maintaining a carefully chosen distance, Ifan took the time to consider the latest mess. While Cyril was a true friend and had proven as much many years ago, he could not quite understand why his friend had chosen someone like Vlad von Carstein as his employer. From what Cyril had claimed, Vlad was certainly a person one wanted to rather work with than against, and if he ever had been human, that must have been a long time ago. And now this man who had never heard of this continent had them teleported to a metropolis rather opposed to their trade in search for a woman he had barely talked about. In short, his current employer seemed not exactly a rational man.

At least, he had not been a bad superior per se. So far, he had neither asked for suicidal nonsense nor for anything cruel, and he had treated his new followers decently. Still, he wondered how this would end.

In the immediate future, his path ended at the doors of an obviously high class inn. Seeing the messenger enter, Ifan took a quick detour through a couple of alleyways, and once certain he was out of sight, made use of his hat of disguise, choosing an attire more likely to get him past door guards and the like. With this tool and his own skills, it was a child's play to get in, and finding the right room was even easier: It was the only door inside flanked by nervous looking soldiers in the city's colours.

His job done, Ifan made a quiet and quick exit. He only hoped his employer would not do anything to outlandish.


	7. The law and other monsters

As time went on, the frustration became harder to ignore. Maria had spent the last hour already pacing up and down her suite like a caged panther, her more vicious side planning a dozen different paths of escape. Two soldiers just outside the door, both part of the city's elite, and four regular watchmen downstairs. None of them were a threat able to stop her, she knew that much. Had there been a full platoon, they might have stood a chance, but six humans she could overcome in moments. And yet she stayed her hand. These soldiers just did their jobs, and had been on the best behavior she could ask for given the circumstance. Maybe they knew the balance of power here too.  
  
A covert escape was of course also in the cards. A jump out of a second floor window was not harmful for her enhanced physique, and if she waited for nightfall, none of her watchers could hope to catch her. Which lead her thoughts to the other reason she had not simply vanished, the concern that the few kind people she had met would suffer for her flight.  
  
Steps on the stairs outside, hesitant. Maria spun around, reflex making her grab her pistol. She forced herself to relax. Someone sent to kill her would either be more subtle or not alone, and the new footsteps were too light for anyone with heavy gear. A key turned in the lock, and a young man almost stumbled into the room.  
  
He wore no uniform and carried no weapon. His mousy features were framed by short hair of prematurely grey colour, and we wore glasses that made him look a good decade older at glance. Already nervous looking, even a brief eye contact made him freeze.  
  
"I...'m sorry for the intrusion", he stammered, sounding as if he was facing the gallows. "I'm supposed to be you barrister for the upcoming trial."  
  
Maria allowed herself to drop into one of the suite's fancy armchairs and gestured for the man to take another one. Still glancing around like a mouse looking for a way past the cat, he choose the closest to the door.  
  
"You need not fear me. I mean you know harm. Please, just relax a bit", she said, keeping her voice even softer than usual. There was some effect, though not much. "Perhaps start with calmer introduction?"  
  
"Right. Right. My name is Jerry Stanson, lincenced barrister in Bard's Gate, currently a public defender. I was assigned to your case as you have not received another attorney." He froze, and when he spoke again, he was back to the initial fright. "You are Lady Maria of Cainhurst, right?"  
  
"I am, and I am thankful that you offer this assistance. Would you mind if ask what frightens you so?"  
  
"Well", Jerry straightened himself and took a deep breath. "I was just promoted to barrister. I have never had to handle a murder case, much less one with five victims, and I have never had a client anywhere as dangerous as you are supposed to be." His next words were muttered quietly into his nonexistent beard, but Maria could still hear them just fine. "Or as pretty."  
  
"Why thank you." She could not help herself but chuckle and smile as the young barrister turned almost as pale as she was before he blushed furiously. As much as Jerry seemed an unlikely advocate, an honest compliment was nice to hear, and there was the absurdity of the whole encounter.  
  
"Apologies... I didn't mean to... oh goodness..."  
  
"It is quite alright. Tell me what you need me to do for this trial."  
  
Jerry pulled a notebook and quill from a satchel. Holding these items seemed to instill a measure of professional confidence in him. "Please relate to me the events of that evening encounter, to the best of your memory."  
  
"We were just leaving the Pride of the March. "We" in this case referring to Captain Ryan Lockwill, his wife Astrid and the lieutenants Jarric, Liza and Winston, whose last names I do not know, and myself. Alcohol was involved in considerable, though not stupifying amounts. On the street just about fifty meters from the club, we were cornered by two groups of women, ten in total, armed and armored for warfare. They accused me of being a monster and a "servant of darkness", and from what I can tell, intended to imprison or kill me. Ryan and Astrid spoke in my defense, and a fight broke out." She paused and watched the barrister furiously scribbling notes. "Do you need an overview of the ensuing bladework?  
  
"No, the results will do, and the judge would probably not like it."  
  
"The fight was short, broken up by patrons of the Pride. The first group of our attackers, initially numbering six, had taken five casualties. I did not check on the fallen enemies of the second group, all I know is that Winston was severely wounded there. In the immediate aftermath, we returned to the Pride of the March, where I was arrested maybe half an hour later."  
  
"The five dead fell to your blade?"  
  
"Blades and pistol."  
  
"You truly fought one against six and prevailed without significant injury."  
  
"I did."  
  
"How?"  
  
"I am a hunter." An automatic response to many past questions of similar nature, and one she realized wasn't very helpful, given how the people of these lands seemed not have hunters like Yharnam did. Yet Jerry seemed unwilling to pry in that direction.  
  
"Do you know why you were singled out by paladins of Muir?"  
  
She shook her head. "I know nothing of Muir. I can't even say what made these women so hostile, their accusations were both melodramatic and vague. All I can say is that intended for no harm to befall anyone before being attacked."  
  
"Have their been any other conflicts between you and the people of this city?"  
  
"Yes. A few days back, I had the misfortune of encountering a band of thugs." She quickly summed up the encounter, growing a little nervous as she saw the disapproving look Jerry threw her.  
  
"Why did you leave those thugs alive, in contrast to the paladins?"  
  
Maria sighed. "They were a far lesser threat, and they were not actively threatening anyone else. I tried to hold back on these "paladins" too until one of them landed a hit. After the wound, instinct and training took over."  
  
"Did these paladins use anything in their attacks that could be described as supernatural or magical?"  
  
"Yes. They healed their own wounds, some force was trying to deflect my attacks, and their own strikes were swifter and stronger than they should have been."  
  
Now the barrister looked downright dismayed.  
  
"I fear", he said slowly and with caution, eyes fixed on Maria's face, "that all this does not shape up into a particularly good starting position. Dead paladins tend to really rile up the judges."  
  
"The ones I slew were of high standing?"  
  
"Yes. They truly were paladins, and those are rather popular with many people. Their goddess demands honesty in all things, as such, any statements they give are likely to be believed."  
  
"When they claimed I was a servant of darkness, and that they could sense as much, what did they speak of?"  
  
Jerry seemed puzzled at first. "They must have used their divinely lend abilities to detect evil." The barrister paused and the fear returned to his face. "Which raises the question as to why they sensed an evil aura on you."  
  
"I know not how these abilities function. What would look evil to their eyes?"  
  
"True devotion to an evil deity, pacts made with dark powers, corrupted magic in beings and items, certain creatures such as demons or the living dead, or those of cruel hearts and great power..." Each word drained more colour from the young man's face. "Those any such thing hold true for you?"  
  
"Would any of these things be illegal?"  
  
Her evading the question was obvious, but again, the barrister did not pry.  
  
"The possession of magic items of such nature is forbidden, as is the working of similar sorceries and the worship of evil gods. Demons and undead are simply considered monsters and a danger to society. An evil heart is not quite illegal, but it certainly would not help any defendant." By the time he was done speaking, Jerry looked as terrified as when he had first entered.

"There is still no reason for you to be afraid of me. I asked and you answered. Nothing to fear. Now, is there anything else I need to know?"  
  
Jerry spent another hour telling her about the expected behaviour and protocol of the trial, and Maria listened closely. Proper behaviour could be a powerful tool in such situations, as she had learned in her early childhood. If this could get her out of this ugly situation, then she would play her part as good as she could.  
  
After the barrister had left, Maria turned her thoughts to the possible outcomes of the future. In one area, her pride and frustration reigned supreme: She would not be sentenced to death or prison for defending herself. If it came to that, she would make her way out by any means required.  
  


* * *

  
  
The guards at the city gate did not try to stop him. Perhaps they sensed the righteousness of his calling, more likely, they did not dare to confront him. Either way, his quarry was close, he could feel the nearby presence of the cursed bloodline. And something else to, the hint of someone who could be of assistance. He made his way there first. While his prey was certainly scum, the wise did not face even scum without some preparations.  
  
The helpful presence was located within a round stone tower. Though night had fallen by the time of his arrival, he knocked on the door with considerable strength. A young woman opened, giving him a slightly annoyed look.  
  
"We're closed, and men are not permitted entry. Whatever you want, come back tomorrow."  
  
"Do you think the work of the righteous can wait but a minute once evil is lurking nearby? An evil you are well aware of?" The blunt, fiery tone seemed to do its work, and the young paladin rushed back into the building.  
  
It had been a catastrophic week for Jenette Holycraft and her sisterhood. Eight of their number dead at the hands of a monster and a group of well meaning fools. And not make matters worse, they could not even pursue justice for the fallen. While Sister Griselda had acted rashly and the endangerment of others had been a severe mistake, her intentions had been pure, and the faithful had bravely stood against a nightmare in flesh. Now the monster in question was accused in court, and while Holycraft believed in law and justice, she knew that the judicial system was not immune to the machinations of evil.  
  
She was ripped out of her sour thoughts by the arrival of Sister Eris from the front door of the convent.  
  
"Ma'am, there is a man at the door, insisting to speak to you about the evil our sisters faced."  
  
Holycraft made her way to the door without a word. Even with all her misgivings about this approach and possible deceptions, any true aid might prove essential in the coming days.  
  
The man waiting outside was a hulking brute, over seven feat tall and build like an orcish blacksmith. He was clad in simple white robes of rough fabric, and his thick white beard reached all the way to his waist. His grey eyes showed the glimmer of a true believer, and though the man was old, age did not seem to hinder him. He carried two strange weapons. At his side, there was a greatsword, its blade covered in strange markings and massive enough to make the weapon look almost unusable. On his back, an even more exotic weapon was carried, a massive wooden wheel with hand grips.  
  
"Who are you, and what brings you here?"  
  
"I am Logarius. You have faced the corrupted bloodline. I am here to wipe away that stain from the world. Assist me if you are one of the righteous."  
  
Every word was delivered with the subtlety of hammerblow to the forehead and absolute conviction, and Holycraft knew she had just found a powerful ally.  
  


* * *

  
Vlad sauntered into the Six Candles as if he owned the place, head held high and glowering at anyone nearby. It was not just arrogance, it was a method to get in quickly. And it worked. The staff, well used to the worst behaviour of some of the city's elite, made way without a fuss, and so his way through the dining room, paying no mind to most of the guests. One table drew his attention, as the couple sitting there was accompanied by half a dozen bodyguards, but only for a moment. Ifan had delivered a precise description of the building, and so finding the right room was easy. The two soldiers flanking said door were more of a hassle. Dominating minds was unreliable and might very well be found out, and as tempting as it was to just carve through them, that would cause a scene he did not want. Yet. So back down to words.  
  
As Vlad closed in, both soldiers turned to face him, with wary eyes but no hands reaching for weapons yet. From their confidence and the way they moved in armor, Vlad would guess these were well trained, certainly a cut above the regular city guard. Not that it would help them much should things escalate.  
  
"Excuse me, good sirs", he said, putting a bit more respect in his tone than in his posture. It often helped to give particular commoners the impression that nobles thought higher of them than of others. "Is this the suite of the Lady Maria?"  
  
"Hold it right there." One of the soldiers moved to block his path, and Vlad was impressed how the man ignored the apparent difference in status and the career peril that could bring. Or he saw that Vlad was no local, and was therefore in no position to complain to any high officer in some private club. Either way, it was annoying, if worthy of some respect.  
  
"I mean not to impose, sir. I merely wish to know if my acquaintance is truly in such ghastly circumstance, and if you can find it in your heart to permit me speaking to her."  
  
"Are you for real?" The soldier rose an eyebrow. "You sound like your on stage for some new play."  
  
"In the city of the lyre, I'll take that as a compliment." Vlad flashed the soldier a smile. "While it was overly dramatic, the contents were true."  
  
"What is your connection to the accused?" By now, the second soldier had produced a notebook and quill.  
  
"We are have met before, and she has left a rather positive impression. When I heard of charges being pressed against her, I wanted to learn the truth."  
  
"Where were you midnight two days ago?"  
  
"In Carterscroft."  
  
If the mention of city hundreds of miles away made the soldiers suspicious, they hid it well. Finally, they relented. "You have ten minutes, and don't try anything funny."  
  
"Thanks." Vlad stepped past the soldier and knocked on the heavy wooden door.  
  
  
There had been a conversation outside her room. Maria could have listened in, but she was distracted. Since her barrister had left, the urge to get out of this situation had only grown stronger. She said on the bed, mind racing through the various routes of escape. Just stepping out of the window, for one. Not painful or dangerous for her, and once on the street, a few minutes to vanish into a crowd. If done in darkness, even better, for very few creatures would find a hunter sneaking around at night. A higher leap perhaps, across the street and onto the roof of a building there? Still an option of little risk, though first hitting said roof might be loud enough to alert someone. After that, flee from rooftop to rooftop, an impossible pursuit for her jailers. Or the direct route, through the door of her suite and anyone standing in her way, leaving enough death and carnage to make chasing her something the locals would not be willing to pay for.  
  
She forced the last thought out of her mind. Not that way, not while any other option was there. Maria would not show herself to be the monster they thought she was.  
  
Another knock yanked her away from these thoughts, and she took a deep breath. "Come in." She did not turn towards the door, needing a few more moments to fully regain her composure, and to push back the desire to seize this chance and break out.  
  
"I hoped to find you in better circumstances, though it warms my heart to see you in good health."  
  
Maria spun on her heels as recognized the voice. She had not expected any visitors, and to hear a familiar voice, supportive and full of laid back confidence, was more soothing than it had any right to be.  
  
Whatever had happened to Vlad von Carstein in the last two weeks, it had not visibly changed him. Had he searched for her? A chance encounter was most unlikely.  
  
"You found me. Why go through that effort?"  
  
With the door falling shut behind him, Vlad smiled, showing his fangs. "You were the first person I met in these strange lands, and you made a good first impression. We fought together, and I failed to aid you. That alone is enough to inquire about your wellbeing."  
  
"My thanks. I do appreciate the effort. And yet I sense that there is something more to it than that."  
  
"Your senses tell you the truth." His smile widened. "Very few people I met could look upon my more feral side without fear, and even fewer could fight the way the you fought. What you have shown intrigues me a great deal. And, forgive my slip into shallowness, I will not deny that your beauty is not without effect."  
  
Maria burst out laughing. "Are you telling me that, because I am pretty and good with a blade, you spend time in your first two weeks in an unknown world searching for me?"  
  
"That does sum it up. What else was there to do? You learn along any path you take, and long term plans can wait some time. Though if you look at it from the outside, it must truly seem absurd."  
  
"It is touching, in a way. What did you intent do next?"  
  
Vlad's expression turned serious. "While I would prefer to know what happened after you were pushed through that portal and why we were jumped by these creatures in the first place, I fear your current situation needs solving first."  
  
"True, I am stuck here. The trial will start in two days, I am told. Any suggestions?"  
  
"Depart on your own terms. I would offer assistance, as you, though you would hardly need any. You could make your way through the guards without trouble. And yet you have not done that."  
  
"I have concerns about simply breaking out. If I do so, those who treated me well might be endangered. Besides, I do not wish to harm those only doing their lawful duty, as much as their work raises my ire. As it is, my path leads to that trial."  
  
"And what if the verdict does not favour you?"  
  
Maria locked eyes with Vlad, showing a slight hint of the wrath lurking inside her. "In that case, there will be a swift reevaluation of my stance, and action to be taken in accordance."  
  
"Do wish for any assistance?"  
  
"I am in no position to refuse aid. Yet I do not know what I would have to ask for, nor do I know your means."  
  
"I'll think of something. And worry not. After the effort of finding you, I take exception to you being imprisoned." He paused. "I should leave before the guards get too nervous. Farewell, fair lady. We shall meet again soon."  
  
"Farewell, and good hunting."  
  


* * *

  
The courthouse was rather impressive, the elegant simplicity of purpose shown by both the building itself and its interior somehow instilling more respect than even the bombastic grandeur of the old Cainhurst Castle. Dozens of people were already in the court room, onlookers and rumormongers mostly, and judging by their attire and demeanor, it was a largely wealthy crowd. Of course, only the wealthy could afford to spend so much time on following the trial of a stranger.  
  
Maria sat on her bench, observing the room to distract herself from increasing frustration and rising wrath. She had been disarmed upon entering this room, her weapons now stored in the antechamber, and three soldiers stood close by, watching her every move. It fanned the flames of her anger even more, and in turn, she spend a lot of effort to keep that in check. Even barehanded, these three could be dealt with in a blink, and once that was done, she would have access to weapons. A couple more seconds to get to the antechamber, and her arsenal would be restored. Maria was confident in her ability to handle any local foes with that.  
  
A polite cough to her left yanked her out of the murderous train of thought. Jerry was sitting next to her on the bench, a large stack of papers. The barrister flashed her quick smile probably intended to be reassuring, yet it did not manage that. So she took a deep breath to keep her temper in check, and turned her attention to those responsible for this debacle. Even with all her will put to work on staying calm, she felt her fists clench and far worse, noticed a slight temptation to call upon the power of her cursed blood, a thought usually causing her nausea.  
  
The leader of her accusers, one Jenette Holycraft cut an impressive figure, a fit, tanned woman clad in well polished plate armor, eschewing only the helmet. She was flanked by several sisters of her order, among them the survivors of the ambushers, as well as a few strangers. All of them mirrored their leader in terms of armor and, being the accusers here, still carried weapons. It was enraging, they only had that advantage because their faction had been quicker to press charges. Jerry had mentioned that if anyone had done the same against the paladins sooner, their places in this court might very well have been reversed. The paladins returned her gaze with sneers of contempt, and Maria bit back a smile as she saw a couple of them reach for their blades. Less composure than she had. Good.  
  
  
On the opposite side of the room, Jenette Holycraft did almost the exact same thing Maria did, and was not in much better a state. The attack had been a disaster for her sisterhood, and while winning this trial and seeing evil dealt with might be a victory, it would not bring back the dead. Still, it was something worth fighting for.  
  
The target Sister Griselda had so rashly, if rightfully chosen to attack was now sitting still, doubtlessly an attempt to look nonthreatening. On those without keen eyes, it might work. The woman calling herself Maria, addressed with the title of Lady by almost everyone, was not an imposing presence at a glance. She was of average height and lean build, her beautiful pale face framed by hair the colour of fresh snow. Jenette was not naive enough to discard the effects good looks could have even on a judge, and was certain Maria was aware of that too. The woman who had taken down half a dozen paladins alone was now sitting still, hands folded in her lap, eyes slightly downcast, a picture of worried innocence.  
  
Keen eyes could see the signs pointing out the truth. The grace and poise Maria had shown in every move were not those of a noble lady, but of a seasoned killer, the elegance of the hunting cat, not the deer. And even in this pose, her green eyes were clear, sharp and on guard. And if one used the abilities of a paladin, the truth became obvious, for the woman was shrouded in the vapors of darkness, every inch of her body infused with vile magics. Not the pure stuff of the Lower Planes or the undiluted horror of undeath, but similar to the later, and certainly applied with purpose.  
  
Both sides gave opening statements, and the course of events was undisputed. No servant of Muir would lie, much less so in court, and the accused made no attempt at deception there. Different were the descriptions given by the witnesses afterwards. Griselda and her sisters spoke of their holy duty to bring down evil, and of their obligation to the city to act against darkness wherever it encroached. The incident had been a matter of civic duty, a citizen's arrest of some vile creature endangering the good folk of Bard's Gate. The opposition described it as nothing more than a robbery by thugs using holiness as an excuse, and Jenette barely fought down the urge to grab her sword. The witnesses were largely innocent dupes after all, simple soldiers blind to any danger not charging in screaming. As much as Jenette wanted to hate them for what they hade done, part of her knew they had acted with pure intentions.  
  
After the last witness of the fight had finished speaking, the judge mentioned for the accused herself to speak, before the testimony of character would begin.  
  
"Most was already said by witnesses, I fear", Lady Maria said, and Jenette had to admit she played the part well, her voice soft and melancholic, quiet and yet clearly audible. "I am a stranger to this city, regrettably unaware of its customs and laws. When confronted with by apparent foes, armed and armored for war and not presenting any proof of their claims or authority, I thought them dangerous madwomen. And their threats extended not only to me, but to those beside me as well. I acted to protect them, as one has to act when facing blades. Many times I have heard now that I am a monster, tainted, in league with the dark powers and such expressions, both before the fight and during this trial. Truth be told, I know nothing of it. I know not what these expressions mean. For all I know, I never sold my soul for riches, never vowed service to monsters in return for power. My home was torn by war, and I was part of it. In war, one sometimes has to do dark deeds, or is make to think so." At this sentence, a shiver went through Maria's otherwise calm posture. "Certainly, I did things no one should be proud of. Yet as certainly, I meant and I mean no harm to Bard's Gate or the people of this city." She said back down after that, and the judge motioned to proceed.  
  
Next came the testimony of character, a process where those knowing the participants could step forward to inform judge and public about the personalities on the stand, of past moral failings or good deeds indicating trustworthiness. Once more, the Sisterhood of Maiden's Cross went first, and for all differences in doctrine and view on the faith, priests from the other churches of Muir and Thyr attested to their honesty and valor, pointing out how the rules of Muir forbade all acts of evil and deception, and that since the sisters still had their divinely given abilities, their actions must have been fair in the eyes of the gods of justice. A few citizens also came forward in support.  
  
In this regard, their opponents had far less to work with. Those closest to Maria had already spoken as full witnesses, leaving only the rank and file soldiers of Captain Lockwill's company. While not of high status or fame, they spoke of the foreign noble in terms usual reserved for heroes or saints, recounting how this one woman had broken the orc attack on that merchant caravan. A surprise came in the shape of a citizen describing the rescue and return of his son's beloved cat, by Maria's supposed kindness.  
  
Even as the man spun his trivial, if somewhat heartwarming tale, Jenette noticed another man rising to speak afterwards, and this one churned her stomach. He was tall and fit, but neither to an extraordinary degree, and his complexion, even paler than that of Maria, contrasted sharply with his raven black hair. Clad in archaic full plate armor and a cloak trimmed with fur, he could have stepped right out of a painter's rendition of a warlord sworn to the Nine Hells, lacking only obvious symbols of faith. One look using her divine senses told Jenette that it was way worse. Darkness as black as space between the stars constructed this copy of a human body, and it radiated this darkness like a fire would radiate light, all of it shrouded by a mist of dead, bound souls. An undead monstrosity, and by far the most powerful one Jenette had ever had the misfortune to detect.  
  
It took all her discipline not to immediately jump up and charge the monster, hoping that Muir's smite and her holy blade would be enough to cut this abomination down. Yet doing so here would endanger countless bystanders, and the moment had to right. So she quietly told one of her paladins to rush to the order, to gather the whole sisterhood, and, with some hesitation, to also inform Logarius. Jenette was somewhat distrustful of the man, but to face such a being would require all available help. Another messenger would inform the city authorities outside the Hall of Justice, as any sudden interruption here might cause violence to errupt instantly.  
  
With the cat story finally done, the undead man stepped forward to give his testimony. He walked slowly and with utmost confidence, his piercing amber eyes scouring the room, and finding few able to meet their gaze.  
  
"Your name, sir?" The judge was one of those not overly impressed by the stranger.  
  
"Vlad von Carstein. Bother not to check your archives, I am as much a stranger as the Lady Maria is." A deep, sonorous voice, wielded by someone clearly used to playing the demagogue. Jenette felt her heart twist in rage as she saw how many of the onlookers were already taken in by the speaker, even without any spell.  
  
"And you would speak of the accused? Is she of good moral character?" The judge was calm, no hint of emotion in his tone.  
  
"Yes to both, Honored Judge. The evidence of good character is quite clear, if perhaps so obvious as to be almost invisible." Von Carstein began to slowly pace up an down in front on the judge, his burning gaze sweeping the room again. "All here have heard much of the prowess of the Lady Maria, of her deadly skill wielding a blade, and much more of feats that would seem impossible to any human. Even accounting for some exaggeration, doubtlessly borne of the frenzied rush of battle rather than any deception, no one hear disputed the results of her participation in a fight." A dramatic pause followed, passing in silence. It was true, no one had raised doubts about the fighting itself.  
  
"And yet Lady Maria is still here. She is in this court only on her own sufferance. I saw the guards she was placed under, and I can tell all of you, she could have escaped at any moment of her choosing. Were she a monster hungering for blood and death, she could have murder her way to freedom with little trouble. Instead, she chose to go along with all of this out of respect for this city and the laws of its people, knowing full well that her accusers are of fame and status while she is but a foreigner. That alone should tell you all you need to hear of her character."  
  
Muttered conversation rose throughout the courtroom, as did shouts both of condemnation and support. The judge bellowed for order and slammed his gavel down. It took a few moments for the shouting to stop, and the gossip grew quieter, but kept going.  
  
Apparently satisfied for now, the judge turned back to von Carstein. "Is that all you have to say on the matter?"  
  
The undead monster nodded and, upon being dismissed, quietly returned to his seat. Meanwhile, the judge announced a recess for the deliberation of the sentence.

* * *

  
It was an opportunity straight from the Lords of the Abyss. Orlin knew that much for sure. It had been a long time since the citizens of Bard's Gate had properly feared the demon princes and their chosen faithful. A wrong state to be corrected with all diligence. The Hall of Justice was a marvelous target, both as a symbol and for the many people of note so often gathered here, and this trial had caused enough of a stir to fill it to the brim. The attack had been planned for months, and by the grace of Orcus, the date was well chosen. Orlin grinned in his seat, all the way in the back and far from the speakers, but close to the doors. He did not need to see the dozen of other cultists within the audience to knew they were in position. Of course, they were not his fellow followers of Orcus, venerating Demogorgon instead, but that was fine. This event called just for the random carnage these simpletons so loved, and if they all died in the process, the better.  
  
The plan was simple enough for even those dullards: After the verdict had been proclaimed, when the audience was cheering for the supposed victory of their laws and assorted drivel, ever one of the thirteen cultists would open the sealed back given to them by the hierophant. After that, they were free to act as they pleased. For his part, Orlin was simply planning to get out of the building. No point in dying when one to could survive to further the cause of Orcus.

* * *

  
  
Both the accused and the latest character witness were surprising factors, given their peculiar nature. To Orlin's schooled and enhanced eyes, the knight seemed to certainly be a vampire, and not a particularly well concealed one. Yet he walked under the sun without burning to ashes, and there was no sign of any spell to keep the light at bay. Any such anomaly had to be powerful, and Orlin knew better than try to dominate such a creature, as much as he wanted to try. The hierophant would have to know about this one. Meanwhile, the accused was an even stranger case, her aura a mixture of life and undeath quite unlike anything Orlin had encountered so far. She was certainly no regular dhampir or necromancer with long exposure to negative energy, and from the witnesses, this one too was dangerous. Though Orlin would hardly complain about anyone killing paladins.  
  
The return of the judge did a lot to curb the various conversations, and a single call for order send the room into uncanny silence, everyone waiting to hear the verdict.  
  
"This was a case with little precedent and grave implications. And both sides in the conflict now considered here acted in good faith and noble intent. Any day that sees the death of the well intentioned is a sad day, and yet this matter needs to be seen with detachment. Had it been one person suspected of serving darkness, the arrest by a group of citizens might have been permissable. Yet this is not what happened, for in the pursuit of their admittedly noble goal the Sisterhood of Maiden's Cross inflicted harm on the allies of Bard's Gate, and proofed the fears of the accused well founded. As such, while the accused acted with harsh means and caused tragedy, she did not so maliciously and not in excess. Therefore, the accused is hereby aquitted."  
  
Cheers broke out among the Waymarch soldiers and their supporters, as did shouts of protest and dismay among those backing the accusers. Jenette clenched her fists around the back of the seat in front of her, grinding her teeth to keep herself from shouting at the judge. While there was a lot of good in Bard's Gate's legal system, this loss did hurt her goodwill a lot. Five good souls, women close to Jenette, dead by the hand of a monster how free to stalk the streets once more. Not to mention that the verdict had failed to even properly address the issue of the taint within the accused. A simply test could have made the darkness within Lady Maria clearly visible to all, and would have swiped away all doubt.  
  
A glimpse ofsudden movement yanked Jenette away from her thoughts. A man two rows ahead and a few seats to the left had had jumped up and screamed incoherently before ripping open a large sack of brown fabric, releasing a spreading cloud of stinking brownish-green vapor. And he was not alone. On the other side of the hall, another man and a woman had done similar things, and yet more figures did just so.  
  
Purpose and iron determination flooded Jenette's mind, and she had her blade drawn and was surging forward before the first cultist yanked out a knife to stab at his neighbour, training and instinct working as one. This had to be a cult action, the vapors without doubt heralding something horrid, be it poison, sickness or creature. It was proven to be the last as a demonic head dove out of the first cloud and tore off the first stunned onlooker in reach.  
  
Pandemonium errupted everywhere at once, the panicked audience reverting to the age old folly of yelling and running for an escape that was not there. The cultists had planned for the easy ways out.  
  
Jenette slashed at the demon in front, shouting a prayer to Muir as the blessed blade sank into its corrupt flesh. The monster, of the kind called hezrou, screamed in pain, not expecting a sword to pack this kind of holy power. It staggered back, smashing pews and bludgeoning fleeing people aside, and before it could regain its balance, Jenette struck a second time, slicing it across the malformed face. Again it moved back, and two of Jenette's sisters seized the chance, rushing in with their own prayers and driving blades into the monster's back, sending pus-like blood flowing. A second later, the massive body hit the floor, its profane resilience largely bypassed by the paladin's devotion.  
  
A quick glance showed that few others had shown the same level of skill. The guards were of course armed, and many in the audience also carried weapons, yet few had kept their nerve and of those who did, only a handful did well in the fighting, lacking the holy powers of paladins or the powerful magical weapons to wound the fiendish horrors, whose skin could often equal steel plates in terms of toughness. In one spot, where the cultist had unleashed a gang of lesser demons instead of one greater beast, regular soldiers had some success, compensating for their lack of higher powers with brutality and quantity, even if they needed half a dozen hits were a paladin would need one.  
  
The right side of the courtroom showed a scene of a nightmare, a many-limbed insectoid horror butchering citizens by the dozen, five spiked pinchers working independently to send blood and gore spraying all directions. And yet, the derghodaemon's rampage ended as suddenly as it had begun, for in a blur, the dark knight, von Carstein, moved up beside the monster and swung a blade glowing with dark magic. Spikes and exoskeleton parted like weak cloth, and in another shower of gore, the monster was cut in two, the thinner section between its thorax and abdomen neatly severed. Without missing a beat, von Carstein turned towards the next fiendish creatures, and unceremoniously chopped it to pieces. Whatever monster wore this human shape, even Jenette could admit it handled the creatures of the lower planes with appropriate brutality. Then again, such easy demonstrations of power meant graver risks for the future.  
  
Jenette did not dwell on those, instead turning towards the nearest living horror, another prayer on her lips.  
  
  


* * *

  
Theft in the courtroom was one of the more inappropriate things Maria had done in public, but she did not hesitate. As the multicolored smoke spread and the first monster jumped out, eager to tear through the nearby onlookers, Maria was done caring for city law. Before the guard to her right could even blink, she ripped the sword from his scabbard and charged, trusting the man to do better with the spear in his hands, and not caring that much either way. Sudden attacks by beasts called for the most swift and brutal answer, both to minimize losses and because few rabid monsters expected to have their ferocity matched. The nearest monster, a red furred ape the size of a small carriage, was proof of Gehrman's lesson. While not feeling fear in the same way as a regular creature, there was a moment of hesitation, and for the First Hunter's finest student, that was more than enough. As the monster opened its cavernous jaws, filled with jagged yellow teeth and stinking breath, Maria lunged, driving the stolen blade right through the upper jaw and into its brain. The weapon found far greater resistance than flesh and bone should give to good steel, yet it was not enough to keep the beast alive. Maria ripped the sword free and pushed on towards the exit, decapitating a gaunt humanoid spear wielder covered in red slime and slicing a grotesquely huge frog wide open. After these two, her sword was chipped and bent, and without pause, she grabbed a replacement from a dead man's belt. The first blade found its last place in the guts of a screaming woman who swung a mace at Maria, and all around, the bloodbath only intensified.  
  
It was than that the blood thirst hit in full strength, the coppery smell and the adrenaline forming raising an urge inside her that Maria could not ignore. Perhaps it was the closed space that made it all so much worse than during the battle with the orcs, perhaps it was just back luck, or something else entirely. Hunger for death filled her, the cursed blood in her veins played its siren song, and with a wave of revulsion, the first part of the change hit physically. It was far from what the true masters of Cainhurst would have been able to do, but it was noticeable, and Maria had never been able to truly come to terms with it. While her gloves and a layer of abyssal blood hid it from sight, she felt how her fingernails turned into talons, and a moment later, she sensed that her canines were now longer and much pointier than human ones. Both changes were small, not like the six inch claws and actual wolf's fangs that beast plague victims developed, a supposedly controlled side effect of being granted the powers of a Cainhurst Hunter Knight. Even so, it was a nauseating feeling, and were it not for the focus of combat, Maria might have vomited on the spot. With more foes ahead, she pushed on instead. A dozen steps from the door, new foes blocked her path, a couple of blackened skeleton wielding shortswords and a group of zombified audience members, blood still running from their deadly wounds.  
  
A few strikes into that fight, the nausea made way for a savage, almost maniacal pleasure. A reflexsive swipe of her free hand made contact with a zombie's neck, and the talons broke through her thin leather glove, tearing away dead flesh and severing bones. For all her discipline and focus, and as much as she found the emotion revolting, it felt undeniably *wonderful*. Another strike of the same hand crushed a bare skull to splinters, and two slashes with the sword later, her path was clear. She rushed into the antechamber, jumping over a desk vacated by the entry guard, and discarded her second stolen blade for the pallasch stored in a weapon, pausing only to also grab her pistol before rushing back to the main courtroom.  
  
While battle was still raging, the tide had turned. By now, the helpless ones were either dead or had fled, leaving the remaining monsters all engaged. Near the witness stand, Captain Lockwill and his group had cornered another ape monster, the beast flailing widely as it was attacked from three sides. Along the wall to her left, another oversized frog and two tentacled creatures were being hacked apart by the paladins of Maiden's Cross, and to the right, Vlad was just finishing off another thing with an unpleasant number of sharp, chitinous appendages.  
  
"We should take our leave", Vlad hissed as he rushed up to her, and something in his voice made Maria follow him even before her mind could question it. The reason became fairly obvious the moment later, as one closer look at Vlad revealed that his more monstrous side was visible under the layers of blood and gore.  
  
"See you got claws too. Please remind me to inquire about your heritage once we are somewhere calm."  
  
His voice seemed to contain neither anger, nor disgust or fear, just curiousity and a slight hint of suspicion. Still struggling to force the bloodlust down, Maria was unable to argue. She was breathing heavily when the sound of hooves and wheels tore her out of a momentary daze. Looking around, she saw a stagecoach fast approaching, crewed by Vlad's henchmen, Cyril holding the reins as Ifan scanned the area, crossbow at the ready. With no immediate threat in sight, Cyril slowed the coach down enough for Maria and Vlad to jump in before making a speedy getaway.  
  
The vehicle rattled over the cobblestones for almost an hour, taking many turns at an unsuitable speed as Cyril steered it through the maze of streets and alleys in the poorer quarters of the city by the river. They finally stopped at an abandoned waterfront warehouse, and a slap on the rear sent the horses on their way, still pulling the coach. In the now fallen darkness, a length of wire dealt quickly with an old lock and let them in. Only once the door was closed did Cyril turn to address his employer.  
  
"What the hells happened back there, sir?" While he kept himself composed, Vlad could hear the fear and anger in the mercenary's voice.  
  
"I do not now for certain. Some form of a rushed summoning, maybe. What I do know is that it involved letting an impressive gaggle of monsters loose within that courtroom, as well as a handful of gleefully killing maniacs. As for why, I have nothing."  
  
Vlad turned his gaze over to Maria. She looked terrible by her standards, leaving her still rather pretty, though the expression on her face was heartbreaking, a equal mixture of despair, shame, and helplessness. He had meant to thoroughly question her on the parallels to his condition she had show this day, but that would have to be postponed. Well, what good was immortality without patience?  
  
"Secure the area", he told Cyril and Ifan, and both men moved out quietly.  
  
"Worried about transformation based on instinct?", he asked Maria once they were alone. "It is not something to be overly concerned about, and neither is it shameful. Once you have some practice, suppressing it will be a trivial effort."  
  
She did not answer, staring onto a scene far away, arms clutched around her torso as if she was freezing. She stayed like that even as Vlad cast a spell to remove the blood and viscera from both of them. So he took of his cloak and wrapped it around her slender form, careful touch her as little as possible, unwilling to startle her out of the trance at first. When she still had not moved several minutes later, he instead took her left hand, the with glove torn by her own claws. A common accident among newly risen vampires, though usually an annoyance rather than a source of crisis.  
  
"You need not fear such changes, it is a pointless and ill chosen fear. Control can be learned swiftly. And it looks like you already made use of them, another good sign. You are always armed now, and with your skills and a little training, you should soon find them reliable weapons indeed. Besides, since already have the grace of the cat, the claws suit you just fine."  
  
"Once a monster, always a monster", Maria muttered under her breath, gaze still fixed at the far away past. "Why did my parents allow me to become this?"  
  
Vlad thought about that for a minute. For all that was similar to a proper vampire, Maria seemed to lack the need for blood as nourishment and displayed none of the classic vulnerabilities. Vlad himself had overcome them with the power of age and the blood of many powerful foes, yet she was clearly no high lady of the undead. Aside from her swiftness, her physical abilities were only on par with a newly risen vampire of a very young generation, and she displayed nothing of the necromantic affinity even a Blood Dragon initiate would have.  
  
"I do not know your parents, yet I would suspect love", he said quietly. "You are hardly a monster, I am a monster and can tell. And if any parent could see their child being gifted such power, why would they refuse? I have seen two worlds now in part, and both were dangerous. Your telling of the beast back home means the one you came from his dangerous too. As banal and brutish as it may sound, and maybe, it is, the ability to tear most potential foes to shreds makes life a lot safer. And only the worst parents would not wish their child all the safety that can be attained."  
  
"I... I revel in the bloodshed, the carnage..."  
  
"Everyone who fights relishes in the kill, and the victory that brings. Human or animal, undead or alive, mundane and monster, the battlefield treats all like that. The mind rewards itself for escaping deadly peril, and every foe struck dead it one such threat turned away."  
  
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Fear not your inner monster, it is a pointless one. Nor should you fight it, for that is a fight no one can win. Instead, you need to come to terms with it, to direct in a manner aiding your goals, to set in on path to your benefit. And once you are in battle, give the leash some room. Wrath, hatred and spite all have purpose, it is astonishing what they can achieve. And those you seek your death deserve the wrath of your inner darkness. You can let it show you paths, you can listen to its council and sometimes, it will give fine advise. Yet you must not ever let it take full control."

Maria was quiet now, but the tension within her lessened somewhat. She sat down, back leaning against the wall, as if all the fight had just left her for now. Vlad watched for her as she dozed off, a faint smile on his face. Time and time again, it surprised him how strongly the act of showing a little kindness could still affect him after thousands of years so often filled with war.

The peaceful moment was ruined when Cyril and Ifan rushed back into the building, concerned expression on their faces.   



	8. Martyrdom

The Hall of Justice was a slaughterhouse. Probably more than two hundred people were lying dead on the marble floor, and the noise of the fighting was now replaced by something even worse, the screaming and groaning of the wounded and the dying as they were carried out. So close to the keep, it had taken only minutes for hundreds of soldiers to rush to the court, yet the fight was over by then. Many were now trying there best to care for the survivors, but there were few of those still present, and so a lot of soldiers were just standing there, shocked at the sudden carnage and not knowing how to act.  
  
Ryan understood that well enough, since he was doing the exact same thing. He was no healer beyond limited first aid and so left the medical care to those more likely to actually help, and he knew that any pursuit or search for the attackers was pointless. If any of them had escaped, they had done so in the first mad rush and were far gone now.  
  
Demons just popping up in the middle of a crowd. The thought made him shiver. He had rarely faced such monsters before, and the massacre all around confirmed the worst of his few experiences. Even when faced by well trained soldiers prepared for battle, demons inflicted high losses. Ambushing civilians like this was just...  
  
A hand on his shoulder stopped the train of fought, and he turned his head in response. Astrid looked just as bad as he knew he did, covered head to toe in the blood of men and monsters, and the cruelty of this day had countered even her northlander's usual delight in a fight. She leaned against him, and he returned the gesture in kind, no words needed in this mutual support.  
  
Armored boots on the marble floor wrecked the tender moment. Looking up, Ryan found himself face to face with Jenette Holycraft, and and cringed internally.  
  
"The accused has used the demon attack to flee, and was aided by another monster, one in human guise. Do you still defend such a creature?"  
  
For a moment, Ryan considered jamming his sword into the insufferable woman's brain, anything to wipe that mixture of condescention and smug superiority of her face. He felt how Astrid tensed up, either sensing his urge or, more likely, feeling the same. (It would not do any good), he told himself, (being a self righteous asshole is a regrettably legal behavior so far.) Another asset to his restraint was that he had now seen Holycraft in action. A pompous bitch she was for sure, but one able to easily trash him in a fight.  
  
"As a matter of fact, I do", he replied, pouring every ounce of his own contempt into the words. "For I have seen the accused personally cut down two demons and a dozen newly risen zombies."  
  
"And what for the one aiding her? That monster wearing human form?"  
  
Recognition must have flashed on his face, for Holycraft narrowed her eyes and reached for her weapon. Ryan took a quick step back, and was rewarded with the sounds of many clicking gauntlets as the Waymarch soldiers present grabbed their own weapons to back their captain, while those of Bard's Gate quickly stepped into the confrontation. As much as Ryan despised Holycraft, she had made a good point. Von Carstein had been suspicious from the start, and the path he had carved through the demons had certainly been beyond human ability. Next to that man, even Maria's skills were deeply overshadowed.  
  
"The man in question, this von Carstein, sought me out a few days ago. He was looking for the Lady Maria. I did not tell him anything, yet he seems to have found her all the same." Anger placed the next words in his mouth. "Pity your thug squad jumped a kindly woman and her friends on the walk home rather than an actual creature of darkness."  
  
Holycraft snarled and stormed of, her followers in tow.  
  
"What do we do now? That one is certainly up to something, and its probably something idiotic."  
  
Ryan could only flash his wife a sad smile. "True, darling. As for the question, it's a damn good one."

* * *

It was really becoming a miserable day. A trial involving a mob of self-righteous fools had already grated on his nerves, and pairing that with a cultist attack had raised his ire properly, a flame stoked by the need for a swift retreat. Vlad was done running and caring about the restrictions of civil society for this day. The downpour outside was fitting, at least  
  
So when his agents came in with these worried looks, he just shot them a single glare.  
  
"Get yourself in a good supporting position, and wait for fitting moment. I trust your judgement on both choices." His tone, cold and hard as ice and wholly dispassionate ensured that neither Cyril nor Ifan raised any questions, instead quietly hurrying out through a side entrance. Vlad himself strode out the front door into the wind and rain, sword in hand and spells in mind. He knew to do so was unwise, he had not even let his retainers tell him what was waiting there, but his wrath battered such doubts aside. Whatever the danger was, it had worried two well experienced and hardened mortal fighters. Had they been scared half out of their minds, the source of their concern might give reason for caution, but a thing worrying a pair of mercenaries would be no threat to one such as him.  
  
Tempting fate, a timelessly bad idea. Dozens of figures were closing in on the warehouse, most of them pitiful creatures clad in rags and carrying whatever improvised weapons they had been able to grab. A strong contrast to the smaller number of paladins in the advancing ranks. Whatever one might think of the Sisterhood of Maidens' Cross, they were tenacious in their pursuit.  
  
One outstanding individual caught Vlad's attention and apprehension. A huge brute of a man, clad in simple robes of rough, white cloth and bearing strange arms, a comically oversized sword, like some of the champions of chaos used at times, and what looked to be a torturer's wheel. Ridiculous as they looked, both weapons held obvious and immensely powerful enchantments, easily the strongest Vlad had seen in this world so far.  
  
A quiet gasp at his side reminded him that he was not alone. Maria was now standing beside him, still looking a little unfocused, yet her weapon was drawn and stance ready. The sight touched something inside him, something he had long thought to have withered away. She could have hidden or run, and yet she stood here beside him, two against nearly a hundred. Was the reason honor, chivalry, thankfulness or sympathy? One could hope. Or maybe it was some selfish calculation, bloodlust or something wholly different.  
  
"The cursed blood will spill the last time this night, its stain forever washed away." There was no compromise in the voice of the hulking man, not the vaguest hint of uncertainty. A sigmarite priest would have approved the obvious fanaticism.  
  
"Logarius the Martyr, First Executioner of the Healing Church", Maria muttered, as if to remind herself. She made to step towards the martyr, but Vlad held her back. Logarius was clearly the gravest threat nearby, and Vlad knew himself to be much stronger than even Maria was. Honor be damned, on a battlefield, acting fairly was a mistake. And if the concerned expression she bore was any indication, she did not like her odds in fighting that man. Grouping up had its own drawbacks, for once Vlad would use his magic at close range, carefully excluding allies from the devastating effects would be close to impossible.  
  
"Find the leader of these paladins, and take her out. I will handle this martyr."  
  
"You must not underestimate him! He may look like an simple brute, but he his only of Yharnam's deadliest hunters."  
  
Was that sincere concern in her voice? It sure sounded like that. Vlad focused his eyes on the martyr, and as the huge man took his first step forward, Vlad let fly his first spell. Doombolt it was called by its creators, the fallen elves of Naggaroth, a spell he had learned on his long travels before even reaching Sylvania. A simple spell, though hard to control, and possessing all the subtlety of an artillery piece. But correctly cast, it also possessed similar power.

* * *

Maria did not wait for the surging mob to reach her, instead diving into their lines, pallasch and dagger lashing out like steel lightning. Screaming fanatics fell, beggars really, turned to living weapons by the promise of salvation, and their blood joined the water on the cobblestones. Crude weapons and dirty hands reached for Maria and found only empty air, while many of their owners found more wounds and death instead.  
  
For a few seconds, it seemed that Maria was untouchable, seemingly dancing through the mob like the wind, dealing death with every breath and receiving nothing in return. Then reality showed itself. All of her foes tried to land their own strikes, and while one of them might have needed a thousand attempts to land a solid hit and would not have survived long enough for a single one were this a duel, Maria was outnumbered three score to one. Every strike had its own miniscule chance, and this chance grew exponentially with the number of allies attacking at the same time. Most of them still went wide. A small number even hit their own comrades. Yet by the simple laws of chance and averages, a small number found their target.  
  
Of these in turn, few were of consequence. The unnatural resilience of a Cainhurst noble and the strength drawn from a hundred hunts meant that Maria received scratches and bruises were a regular mortal would have suffered incapacitating wounds. But just like the cuts from human weapons could eventually fell the greatest beasts, the damage accumulated, one painful little sting at a time. While the individual exchanges were over in blink, the whole was a battle of attrition, and one with an uncertain outcome.  
  
That balance was muddied further once the first paladins got into striking range. Well trained, clad in battle and bolstered by their divine powers, they forced Maria back, and even the glancing hits of their blessed weapons sent flares burning pain through her body. With them, severing a large blood vessel and then turning to the next foe was not enough, all injuries short of severed limbs and instant death quickly washed away by yet more divine power, and the light of each manifestation was uncomfortably bright. Adding to that, the light, quick slashes that so easily sliced open flesh and cloth were useless against their heavy armor barring precise hits at the gaps, and while Maria had the strength and her weapons the magical enhancements to pierce even thick plates, it was much slower and more taxing. All of this in turn allowed her foes to launch more attacks, and of those, a greater part found their marks.  
  
It has a hit on the side of left shoulder that made her snap. The blessed sword bit deep, scratching across the bone, and her hand let go the dagger it had held. Before her consciousness even noticed, she had pressed the flat of her pallasch against the wound, and her blood was coating the blade, a thin layer making the weapon look as if the metal itself was red.  
  
One her next stab, the plate armor her target wore offered much less resistance, the cursed blood acting on it like a horrifyingly potent acid, eating away steel, cloth and flesh. A horizontal swipe sprayed more of it over two zealots, leaving them screaming and dying on the slippery cobblestones. Blood was not all of it. While her left hand was currently unable to hold a weapon, she could still make some gestures, and one such gesture combined with and arcane word sent out a jet of flame engulfing another zealot and scorching him black in a blink.  
  
Her mind was now almost empty, instinct fully taking the reins. Blood magic and pyromancy tore into the cluster of foes, dropping smoking bodies left and right. The small part of her still thinking berated itself for not using the fire earlier, for what point had there been in hiding it? To keep an ace up her sleeve? No. The truth was that she lacked confidence it that ability, and it took the pure determination and the increased power from her cursed blood to make her use it.  
  
Even in this state, her foes still came on. In the blur of flashing metal, fire and spraying gore, they still kept up the pressure, and hit home again. A mace crashed into her right thigh, giving her a limp. Its owner fell with a nearly severed head. A sword left a shallow cut across her stomach, and the wielder died as flame cooked all organs in her chest. Another blade pierced her hip, and a crude club struck her in the back. She spun around, pallasch flashing, and two more corpses fell, a paladin with a split skull and a disemboweled madman.  
  
With that, the pressure was gone, and for a moment, Maria could breath freely. Two score corpses she had made now, every inch of her body covered in red to show for her it. Down the square, Vlad was still fighting Logarius, both combatants now injured, surrounded by yet more dead meat. Maria was just turning to give aid when Holycraft charged in.  
  
She narrowly dodged the first strike, an overhead chop designed to split her in half. As she sidestepped, Holycraft turned it into a horizontal swipe Maria again dodged. Her reply was another burst of her fire, engulfing the paladin leader head to toe, yet seemingly to little effect. Still Holycraft pressed on, swinging her glowing longsword in one hand and covering herself with a shield in the other. A first physical counterattack proved what Maria had thought as her blade barely scratched the shield. Holycraft's tools were magical, and the spells used in their construction were not weak ones. No just piercing armor here, with the enchantments balanced or even favoring the paladin, their fight might as well be fought with mundane gear. And in that regard, shield, plate armor and a longsword clearly beat a pallasch and nice clothing. Of course, the advantage Holycraft held in equipment was checked by Maria's superhuman physical abilities. She had little doubt that had she been fresh, Holycraft would have still lost quickly. With one arm nearly useless, a limp and all the other wounds, her confidence was shaky at best.  
  
She had just started to think of ways to get the quick ending she wanted when the square turned blindingly bright and a sound was drowned in an explosion.

* * *

Maria had been correct, the Martyr was a deadly foe. As ridiculous as his weapons looked, he swung them with practiced ease, and while his bulk gave him strength and reach, it did not make him slow. On the contrary, the man was remarkably agile.  
  
Rarely had Vlad met a match in physical strength, and while a handful of those had been human, they had always had magic arcane or divine to thank for it. Maybe the Martyr had the same, some entity he worshiped lending him power. Yet he did not pray, fighting in stony silence. Perhaps this was another manner aside from armaments were he resembled the champions of the Ruinous Powers, having received such abilities for previous service. Whatever the reason, he was not someone to get hit by. The barrage of magic had done little more than obliterating a few of his followers, as the Martyr had used his wheel like a shield, and by its apparent magic, the weapon had absorbed the bolts of arcane destruction with no obvious damage. Those of his followers who had survived the blast had tried to swarm Vlad, and had paid for it. Blood Drinker had torn through them like the scythe through grass and the few attacks they had made had done nothing, unnatural flesh and plate armor impossible for them to damage. The few sisters of that blasted order who had been with them were also dead by now, with them being a greater, yet fragile threat, Vlad had made sure to kill them first.  
  
He engaged Logarius again, ducking under a swipe of the wheel and thrusting at the Martyr's leg. The huge man stepped back quickly, and the attack left only a minor scratch. In turn, the massive sword in his left hand came down like a machete, and it took all of Vlad's strength to turn the blow aside. Immediately, the wheel came down again, and Vlad dodged, narrowly pulling away from the brutal thing. He snarled and bared his fangs. Since a direct fight was so balanced, why not tip the scales a little?  
  
Words of power rolled of his lips as he retreated, and pulsing necromantic energy shrouded him. The Martyr rose held his wheel in front of him, expecting another arcane barrage. Instead, the corpses all over the square began to twitch and rise.  
  
If raising few dozen zombies impressed the huge brute, it did not show on his face. Logarius simply charged forward, ploughing through the new undead. Those hit by his weapons were turned to paste and hurled aside, and by staying on the move, he prevented the swarming attack Vlad had hoped for. Still, it was a distraction, and so Vlad dove in again.  
  
This time, the exchange ended with one hit for both. Vlad drove his sword into the Martyr's left hip, drawing quite a bit of blood. In turn, Logarius caught Vlad in the chest with a glancing blow of his wheel, and cracked his cuirass. Stumbling, Vlad fired another doombolt, uncaring of the remaining zombies he incinerated. At such short notice, Logarius was unable to fully block it, and some of his flesh was badly singed. Vlad charged in again, thrusting for the man's gut before his target could recover.  
  
His estimation proved wrong. Even burned by dark magic, Logarius was surprisingly agile. He twisted his wheel around even faster than before, and Vlad could hear bones cracking as the Martyr's move overstretched the limits of his own body. Whatever the self inflicted internal damage was, it did not weaken his grip as Logarius caught Blood Drinker between the spokes of the wheel, and brought his own sword down on it. Vlad led go of the hilt and jumped back, cursing his miscalculation. Then the sword made contact, and the true extent of his error became clear.  
  
Arcane items were often volatile things, and might reinforced that aspect. Caught between two weapons of similar power in a breaking position, Blood Drinker shattered, and it did so with all the violence of a wagon filled with power kegs meeting a torch. The force of this arcane explosion in turn was too much for the wheel, its own spells not yet recovered from absorbing the earlier doombolts. So it too exploded, and the combined detonation send shards flying with the force of ballista bolts, its blast wave just behind.  
  
Logarius was hit the worst, his right arm a crippled mess of charred meat, the rest of his body pierced by shrapnel. The zombies and few living zealots around lacked his divinely powered resilience and were turned into slurry. Vlad took two shards to the chest, both punching right through the already damaged cuirass. Yet the vampire was the fastest to recover. Hissing like an oversized cat, he rushed forward, casting another spell as he went, this one meant to strengthen himself rather than kill directly. Logarius stumbled to his feet and lashed out with his cracked, blackened sword, but Vlad simply dodged the clumsy attack and slashed his talons through the Martyr's wrist. As the heavy blade clattered on the ground, Vlad howled yet another spell as he lunged, driving his claw into the Martyr. As his fingers dug into the rips right above the heart, he released the spell, firing the doombolt inside Logarius' chest.  
  
It was fatal, for no living being could remain so with most of its innards blasted to mincemeat. Yet even so, Logarius rose his crippled remaining hand, and with one last strike containing all his strength, drove his fist into Vlad's side. The blow sent the vampire lord flying a dozen paces and fully ruined his armor. Only then, the last hit his, did Logarius fall and die.  
  
Groaning, Vlad forced himself back up. That last punch had broken several rips, and to make sure his foe had died, he had overtone it with the last spell, burning the arm that had channeled it. No matter. He would regenerate while his foe lay dead. Looking around, Vlad found the square to be almost empty.  
  
Just a handful of enemies were still alive, most of them writhing on the ground with lethal injuries. As he watched, two survivors of Logarius' madmen fled after seeing their idol fail. The very last of the paladins rose from the ground after healing themselves from the damage of the explosion, and with commendable resolve, all three of them rushed Vlad. With that commendable resolve still on their faces, they died for the folly. With one arm, broken rips and no weapon but claws and teeth, he still tore them apart. Behind them, a single gunshot tore through the air, and then, aside from the rain, the square fell silent.  
  
Vlad paused, his fingers stuck in the neck of his last opponent, talons dug into her spine. Why not? His wounds were quite severe, his weapon but splinters, and any witness would have enough monster stories to scare children for years. With an internal shrug, he lifted the body up and sunk his fangs in the warm flesh.

* * *

The explosion knocked both of them prone, and both of them were quick to get back up. Holycraft stabbed low, then turned turned that attack into an upward slash. She lunged as Maria stepped back, and the very tip of her weapon drew a cut from sternum to collarbone. The followup though was completely avoided as Maria had fully regained her senses and balance. In response, the huntress drove the paladin back with a series of quick thrusts towards the eyeslits and knee joints, corrosive blood scarring plating as the blade did not quite reach its mark. Exhausted, in pain and with increasing fury at the one behind all of this pointless slaughter, Maria hit the transformation switch on the hilt of her pallasch. The powder in the weapon was probably wet, and the flintlock mechanism was already unreliable in the rain. As she stabbed for Holycraft's eyes again, she simply bypassed the mechanics by channeling small burst of fire magic into the weapon. She could not see if Holycraft was surprised about the gunshot or the bullet, but she hardly cared about that. What she cared about was the spray of crimson as the bullet smashed its way through the paladin's visor and the armored body crumbled.  
  
Her last foe dealt with, Maria swept her gaze over the square as she sheathed her weapons. About a hundred bodies were sprawled over the cobbles, their blood mixing with the rain. A few of them might still draw breath, yet no threat remained. About twenty meters from her stood Vlad, holding the limp body of a paladin in one hand, his teeth buried into the neck of the corpse. The sight turned her stomach, not because of what it was, but because she had seen it before. Some of the nobles of Cainhurst had acted in similar ways, and she knew she could do the same, and even derive pleasure from it.  
  
She shuddered as she compared Vlad to her relatives. The parallels were undeniable to anyone not wilfully blind, and Maria was enough of a scholar to lock at it with some detachment as she walked towards him. If anything, Vlad's condition was a more extreme form of the Blood of Cainhurst, far greater unnatural powers with unknown side effects. The nobles of her old home had their enhanced physique, and some had been able to grow claws and fangs. She herself had never consciously used those skills after being forced to learn their use, though during her first hunts, survival instinct had forced them on her a few times, and once or twice, that had saved her. In contrast to the old nobles, whose natural weapons might be adequate for soft targets and maybe some precision work, Vlad was strong and apparently durable enough to drive his claws through armor and parry blades with them.  
  
With that in mind, it was no surprise that his wounds healed as he drained blood. Again, it was a difference in degree, not principle, his regeneration even without fresh blood so quick that by the time she was at his side, some his wounds were simply gone.  
  
"My apologies if this display startles you. Fresh blood accelerates my recovery without a need to expend magic." He did not turn, and it was surprising how clear his voice was through the dead meat between his teeth.  
  
"Worry not about it, the sight is not frightening, it merely raises old memories."  
  
"Not pleasant ones, I take it." The corpse dropped from his hand. "Would doing the same heal your wounds as well?"  
  
She shook her head. "While it might, I do not think I could do it."  
  
Vlad sighed and turned to face her and rose his uninjured left hand in a strange series of gestures. "Hold still, and relax if you can."  
  
The first was something Maria could do, yet she was unable to relax as tendrils of red and black energy rose from his fingers and snaked over her body. Where the magic touched her wounds, the pain was numbed, and some of these wounds began to close, mostly Holycraft's slash on her chest. It was not a full recovery, the wound on her shoulder still send out needles of pain, and most of the bruises from blunt weapons remained.  
  
"That is all I can do for. As you can see, my arcane power has its limits, and the dear late Martyr demanded a lot of it. Speaking of which..."  
  
Vlad turned to the blasted remains curiously, searching for something. As he did, Maria took the chance to examine the body herself.  
  
Truth be told, she could not say at which point his wounds had been fatal. The torn stump of this right arm might very well have resulted in death from blood loss, and the severed veins in his other arm might have done the same. Of course, neither compared to the mess of his chest cavity, which looked as if one of the less table hunters of the Powder Keg order had jammed the muzzle of a cannon against his rips before pulling the trigger. In this case, there really was no need for further ensuring death.  
  
A few meters away, Vlad had picked up Logarius' remaining weapon. It was one of the holy blades of the Healing Church, based on Ludwig's legendary weapon. Certainly, this was one of the very best of them, fitting a such a high ranking champion. With a click, Vlad deactivated the trick mechanism and pulled the inner weapon free, studying it with an appreciative look. The silvered bastard sword was close enough to his old weapon in terms of size and balance to be immediately handled comfortably.  
  
"The spoils of the hunt replace the losses of battle. I have no doubt you will find this a fine weapon." Maria showed a faint smile despite her pain.  
  
Vlad smiled back and nodded as he slid the weapon into his scabbard. Not an exact fit of course, but good enough for now.  
  
The sound of many heavy boots on the street yanked them out of their silly pause, and they both turned northward. A formation of soldiers approached in good order, shields, spears and crossbows at the ready. Vlad tensed up, and Maria sensed another buildup of arcane power, yet she raised her hand to stop him as she recognized their uniforms and the man leading them.  
  
"Wait, these need not be our foes. Please allow me to attempt an amicable resolution."  
  
Vlad rose and eyebrow and kept gathering power.  
  
"Please, I know their leader and was on good terms. I don't want anyone else getting hurt."  
  
For several agonising moments, it seemed her plea went unheeded. "The choice is yours", Vlad hissed slowly, and it was clear he thought the request foolish. "If they attack, I will likely not be able to cover you." His eyes flared up in a red glow. "And I will kill anyone trying to detain or attack me."  
  
Maria nodded in thanks and rushed towards the soldiers.

* * *

One of the soldiers behind him muttered something to the gods, and Ryan was tempted to do the same. The square in front of them was covered in blood, gore and corpses, most of them clad in rags, with the occasional armored shape. In his career, Ryan had seen such sights in the aftermath of battles, but never within a city unless it had been sacked. Enough dark magic saturated the area to be felt even by those with no magical aptitude at all, like a freezing mist covering it all, with cold fingers crawling over everyone's skin.  
  
Two figures were still standing amidst the carnage, both so covered in red that it would have been difficult to identify them if Ryan had not known who they were.  
  
He stopped the formation as Maria approached, noting that she took care to keep her hands away from her weapons. Her expression was saddened, with more than a hint of regret. Behind him, the soldiers tensed up, both those previously saved by her and those you had never seen her before.  
  
"Ryan, wait. You have to let us leave." Quiet as it was, her voice carried a tone of determination, and Ryan felt a shiver moving down his back.  
  
"You know I can't do that", he said and took a step forward. "I can see you being innocent, and will attest to that, but your companion is a different manner. He is too dangerous to be just walking around town."  
  
Maria stepped in his path and placed her right hand on his breastplate, stopping him as if he had walked into a wall. Another shiver went through him. It was one thing to know of her inhuman strength or even to see it, and a wholly different one to feel it being used.  
  
"Which is why I ask that you let us go. I worry not much for my companion's safety, I fear for you and your people. A hundred dead lie on that square, the larger part brought low by his hand, as was the monster leading them. He will not tolerate your approach, and if you come close to him, you will die, and I do not wish for that. So please, just wait for a few minutes."  
  
She did sound sincere, and when mentioning her companion, her expression betrayed some fear. His heart sinking, Ryan could only give a slight nod response. Orders or not, he would not lead his troops into a pointless death. If von Carstein was a monster able to make Maria afraid, there was probably nothing regular men could to stop him with by force, and while a ballista or cannon might do were polarms and swords were certain to fail, Ryan had none on hand.  
  
So he waited and watched as Maria rushed back to the square and into the dark alleys, von Carstein with her. Someone called out ahead, but Ryan could not make out the words.  
  
His troops had barely secured the vicinity when another group appeared in a flash of light. Mages and priests no doubt, their fancy robes implying greater rank and power than that of the few magic users in his force. Barely paying the soldiers any heed, the newcomers rushed about, their purpose unclear. Not that the soldiers minded, they were largely busy looking over their shoulder, many disbelieving the notion that two seeming humans had killed so many alone.  
  
All Ryan could do was wait and curse the cultists and von Carstein. Without their interference, this would have ended as a good day.

* * *

Cyril had found a boat nearby, and so their small group moved downriver with all haste, landing on a suitably poor locking dockside and rushing on. The late hour and heavy rain meant few people out and about, and the couple of local thugs took on look at the group and then turned to search easier pickings. Along the way, Vlad cast a spell to drain most of the blood from their clothes. Ifan, well versed in almost lawless poor quarters, spotted an inn still open at the hour, and a handful of coins and some grim stares got them two rooms with a connecting door.  
  
Maria dropped on the bed as soon as the room was found to be secure, pain still present and exhaustion too strong to keep standing. She vaguely took note of a worried look from Ifan. Then her eyes fell shut.  
  
The nightmares came as they so often did, a jumble of scenes she wished to have forgotten long ago. Castle Cainhurst, with the rampant sadism of so many of its nobles, killing those they abducted from their lands solely for the fun of it. Her own training, being forced to grow fangs and claws, to turn her blood corrosive, and test it all on living slaves. Later the hunts in Yharnam, and as it was a nightmare, only the very worst, when hundreds of bodies littered the streets, innocents torn to shreds by ever growing numbers of horrid beasts. Flashes of the fishing hamlet, the charge of the hunters cutting down villagers were they stood without provocation, then the brutality of the retribution, as while they had not been foes before, their claws and fangs were not for show. The gruesome aftermath, autopsies of the dead to find whatever might aid the cause of Byrgenwerth...  
  
Something crashed into the nightmares, a suffocating blanked of darkness, and her slumber turned peaceful.

* * *

Vlad hissed at the effort of dispersing the spell that had enveloped the sleeping woman. It looked to be some kind of persistent curse, and a mighty one at that. Beyond his ability to simply lift it, he could only keep the symptoms out. Maria was now quiet, after tossing herself around in the grip of nightmare. Given her calm in the face of slaughter and daemons, Vlad wondered what it took to give her nightmares. He sure knew his own versions, centered around his failure. Around Isabella...  
  
He forced his mind back into focus. While he told himself that it was to be ready for potential dangers from the night, he knew the truth was that to allow such thoughts for long was simply too painful. Isabella was gone, dead by her own hand. And the woman he had loved had been gone even before that, her mind broken by the change of vampirism. He had predicted that, it was the reason for his hesitation in giving her the red kiss. Some were born ready for it, others would need careful preparation. Her schooling had barely begun when the illness forced his hand, and while the breaking of her mind had soon been obvious, he had loved her still, and so closed his eyes to the truth. Only in the shock of death was the veil of denial shattered. Still, it had been love, and as he fought of that past, he felt tears in his eyes.  
  
Vlad blinked them away. Grief was a hinderrance now. He liked the huntress, simple as that, and had taken a liking to Cyril and Ifan as well. Weeping silently for his dead former wife would neither keep them save nor benefit them in any other way. So he forced the grief back, put a blanket over Maria, and kept watch as his companions slept.  
  
Shortly after dawn, when Cyril rose early and quietly woke Ifan, Vlad allowed himself to slip into a magically warded trance. Not true sleep, for the memory of his betrayal by that rat Manfred was fresh and painful. By using a spell from one of the books Cyril had stolen, he good rest while maintaining his awareness. Both other men left for errants, having quietly summarized the need for information, food and a myriad of other things not currently on hand.

* * *

It was the smell fresh bread and bacon that pulled Maria from her dreamless slumber. She was still lying on the hard mattress in that cheap, ask-no-questions inn that Ifan had found, though she noticed that someone had pulled a blanket over her. When rose, she found Ifan standing just of to the side, smiling as he handed her a platter. Not paying much mind to manners, she wolfed the contents down, gladly accepting a waterskin that Cyril tossed to her. Rested, with a full stomach and the benefit of a full night of regeneration, it was time to take stock of their situation.  
  
It was not very encouraging, all in all. Cyril and Ifan were fine, having wisely found an escape route with the boat rather than jumping into a battle were they would have likely died. As such, they were unharmed and unknown to the authorities. Maria herself was in a worse state. While her cuts were no largely healed and the bruises had shrunk, her whole body hurt both from the fight and the use of her blood. Calling that power became easy with was done often and or with moderation, her instinct based, sudden use of its full measure painfully stretching her own limits. Still better than loosing herself in it. And while Vlad had removed most of blood from her clothes and body, his rushed effort had left enough to really necessitate a bath. Her clothes themselves where torn rags now, sliced in two dozen places and filthy. The same was true for Vlad's attire, the armor above the cloth also ruined, though strangely, not a drop of blood was left on him. In the outside world, word of two bloodbaths had spread like a wildfire, the attack on the Hall of Justice receiving the most attention for the prominent location, richer victims and higher number thereoff, while the the slaughter near the waterfront warehouse had the gossipmongers add a dozen absurd tales to the official version of events. Worse yet, wanted posters had even been shown around in the wealthier parts of the city.  
  
With the dangers in mind, Cyril hit the street again to gather in formation, and Ifan left for more acquisitions, leaving the two wanted fugitives behind for now.

* * *

The black market of Bard's Gate was quite impressive, the underground version of a busy market street. Metaphorically and literally. Ifan made his way from shop to shop quickly, assume the walk and posture of the busy, well-off criminal: Confident enough to scare of the lowly thugs, but not as arrogant as to challenge any local boss, swift enough to be certainly not snooping, but not so quick as to imply flight.  
  
All manners of goods were offered here, from the almost legal of stolen clothes and forbidden drugs all the way up to slaves and toxins. Burly thugs stood guard, and an incredibly variety of customers moved about, from scarred, obvious crooks to those who would look utterly harmless were it not for them being here. Most people, aside from barbarians and dwarves of course, spoke with a politeness often so at odds with their looks as to be uncanny. Since everyone here could be an easily offended professional murderer, even the most brutish of legbreakers were at their best behavior.  
  
Ifan entered the tailor's shop and began to browse the wares quickly, checking of the things he needed. A few changes per person would be enough, the trouble was finding thing they could wear without betraying the disguise. A new set of plate armor for von Carstein was out of the question without him coming to see it fitted, and the vampire lord marching to this remarkably well informed area could well cause an inconvenient panic. And worse, from all Ifan could tell, there was little von Carstein or Maria could do to disguise themselves without magic. For all the grace and poise the behavior of nobility brought, it meant they stuck out like a sore thumb, and putting them in regular clothes would fool next to no one. A military look might be something they could pull of, but that brought its own trouble, since neither of them new anything about this world. So, more the less ostentatious version of all the noble stuff it was. With a sigh, he turned to address the shopkeep.  
  
Poorer by several hundred local gold coins, Ifan left the shop nearly an hour later, having a trunk of clothes and a few helpful one use magic items stuffed into his bag of holding. Any appreciation for the success turned to wariness as he saw the six people waiting for him outside. Four of them were muscular toughs of the same stock as the many guards and goons any illicit operation needed, the two others leaner figures in light armor with cloaks seemingly made for hiding weapons. They probably were, and maybe their tailor was the same Ifan had just left. Goons could be just locals trying to pick on a stranger, but the two looking like a higher class of criminal were unlikely a chance encounter. Most likely, the tailor had sent word while heading to the storage to check if anything fit his requests. A simple hole in a wall there could have sufficed, and Ifan wanted to slap himself for the rookie mistake. Outwardly though, he projected nothing but relaxed confidence. He readied the mental call to Afrit, noted the exact distance the goons held to each other, then stepped forward with a wide, stupid grin.  
  
"A wonderful day, my dear friends", he said, overwriting his usually faint accent with a version that would get someone in his distant homeland maybe a few laughs and most likely a fist to the teeth. But since most people in Bard's Gate likely knew only one type of desert dweller from children's stories and thugs were hardly known for intellect and education, playing the trustworthy, dumb stereotype might fool them.  
  
Confused faces on the goons and the way their tension lessened show him that he had succeeded. The two professionals in the second rank showed annoyed looks instead, but Ifan had not expected them to all for such an obvious trick. Still, as good as hoped.  
  
"What would such fine gentlemen require of a simple man such as myself?" 

"Who are you hiding in the Salty Rooster? Two of them look like the folks who did that massacre last night, after that mess in the courthouse."

Ifan grinned widely. "My friend, what interest would you have in my own associates? They are regrettably not in business in places like this one."

One of the assassins stepped forward. "Cut the bullshit. You're hiding two wanted crooks who dropped in a day than most killers do in a lifetime."

Now Ifan's grin turned genuine, and he dropped the fake accent. "And you want to poke your nose into the business of such people? You must really not like your existance that much." He took a step forward, still smiling. "Perhaps you should leave this matter to a specialist?"

The way both assassins recoiled as they saw his confidence in face of their numbers, and it pretty much confirmed them to be just locals, likely of the Red Blades guild. Certainly dangerous, but mundanely so and smart enough to know when they were in other their heads. Lone Wolves would have attacked at that point. The thugs also withdrew a few steps as they saw their leaders shaken like this.

"Our employer wants to meet the people in your company. Soon." The assassin tried to project confidence, but did not really pull it off.

"Name a time and a place, and I'll convey the message. No reason for anything to get messy."

"Baldeer's Place, at dusk today."

"I'll relay that. No promises beyond."

While the assassins did not look happy about it, they both nodded and left, taking their confused goons with them. Sighing, Ifan made his way swiftly out of the black market, heading back to the Salty Rooster with all haste. He wondered how badly Vlad would take this sort of event, and whether someone would would die for it. As far as Ifan was concerned, the situation screamed for them to just skip town, yet he could only suggest that, and he somehow doubted it would happen.


	9. Skipping town

Somewhat rested, fitted with new clothes (and even a few single-use magics to fix up their old) and refreshingly without armed madmen giving chase, the small group sat in their cramped room in the Salty Rooster, wondering what to do. As Ifan had thought, his suggestion to simply get out of the city and hopefully across a border had not found the acclaim of Vlad or Maria. The vampire had left for a while to retrieve the items left at their previous lodgings, while the others had remained in grim thinking. Convey the message about that meeting had also been taken as poorly was to be expected, though most of that wrath had been muttered curses in which Lady Maria showed a very unladylike vocabulary.

"Who would be sending half a dozen hired knives to deliver such a message?", Vlad asked half bemused and half enraged.

"Can't be certain, sir. Any sort of underworld boss wanting some solid backup or a favor from the law could be it. Or the law itself, if they have learned to lie well." With a shrug, Ifan continued. "Might also be those cultists, their madness knows few bounds. What are you going to do about, sir?

The smile Vlad flashed was decidedly unnerving. "I fully intend to go there and learn what can be learned. Perhaps whoever is behind this has something worthwhile to say." He turned his head over to Maria. "What about you?"

"I have no wish to be there. Rather, I want to try and see if I can get things smoothed over with the law. We merely defended ourselves, and after the trial was done. I hope there will be enough who see reason." Seeing the questioning look of her three companions, she sighed. "Yes, the chance is slimmer than I would ever hope it to be, but I have to try, if only to maybe avoid more pointless bloodshed."

Vlad rose an eyebrow, then nodded. "As much as it seems wasted breath to me, the choice is yours. Do you wish to do this alone?"

"Yes. With me alone, there is at least some established goodwill."

And that was it. Now clad in nondescrip drab green clothes, Maria silently slipped out into the winding alleyways. After a few more hours of brooding and worrying, the three men headed out to Baldeer's, Cyril entering first to take a seat close to the door to keep watch. Ifan and Vlad entered a few minutes later, the Lone Wolf glancing around with wary eyes, the vampire brimming with confidence. Barely five meters into the dining hall, as smartly dressed butler stepped up to tell them that they were expected and let them to one of the private meeting rooms.

Five people were waiting in said room. Three seemed to be better dressed and probably higher quality versions of the common legbreakers any city had in droves, all bulky muscle, scarred faces and unpleasant glares, blades in easy reach. Knowing the game, Ifan did his best to return that in kind. The fourth was a much slimmer man in plain clothes, and the lack of any proper weapon marked out the wizard.  
  
Lording over them was a richly dressed obese man with oiled dark hair and beard, his piggy eyes cold and cruel. As long as Ifan played this by the book, he did not keep his eyes on the leader, knowing that by tradition, henchmen glared at henchmen while the bosses talked.  
  
If Vlad had any idea about proper underworld behavior, he did not care to excibit any. His confident posture, an expression crossing well into arrogance, and his downright malevolent stare directed at the fat leader were each a direct challenge, and the thugs in turn shifted their weight. Not a good start in Ifan's eyes, and he prepared to activate his glove of storing and start shooting.  
  
Of course, his worries were probably unfounded. After seeing just what kind of monster Vlad was in combat, there was little doubt in Ifan that should violence break out, their five opponents would be dead in the blink of an eye, and even without any armor, it was unlikely that his employer would suffer much harm. Given how the reason for this meeting was precisely that danger, it spoke volumes to the arrogance or idiocy of these goons that they were apparently willing to still fight. Perhaps a keener mind was the reason why the fat man did not lash out at the challenges leveled.  
  
"Who are you, and what do you want of me?" No matter how often it was made clear, it was still impressive how frightening Vlad could sound when he wanted to. The effects were instant, thugs leaning back, the wizard nervously tugging at his collar. The fat man though kept his composure.  
  
"Duloth Armitage. I want you to take of a few matters for me. With a profit for you and your boss, of course."  
  
Ifan blinked, while Vlad merely scoffed. "My boss?"  
  
"The white haired lady you busted out, no need to hide that."  
  
"And what matters would be taken care of, in what manner?"  
  
"Places and people. Permanently."  
  
"I am not interested, Mr Armitage." The plain words brought made Duloth snarl in anger and reach to his belt, but a single hiss from Vlad stopped the enraged outburst before it even began.  
  
"I am not interested in joining the ranks of some crooked upstart arrogant or foolish enough to have a meeting like this after trying to intimidate my servant. I care not for you or your schemes or this city. And if you really want to use that knife", Vlad rested his right hand on the hilt of his sword, "you better draw quick and aim true, or I will coat these walls with your blood."  
  
The goons reached for their weapons again, but did not dare to move further. The wizard held utterly still, and Duloth barely supressed another outburst. Meanwhile, Ifan was content to stay back and leave the scaring and fighting to the man with regeneration and the resilience to have blades struggle to even break his skin.  
  
For all the overblown pride so many mob bosses and those who believed themselves underworld bigshots had, Duloth seemed to realize how utterly suicidal that would be. Without another word, Vlad turned and walked out. Ifan gave a shrug to the gathered crooks before following.  
  
"I am unsure that was wise, boss", he said once they were back outside, night just starting to fall. When he got no reply, he continued. "Look, boss, I know these underworld types, and just how far they can go to pay back slights. For all your powers, underestimating people like that is always a mistake."  
  
Vlad turned to face him, and Ifan met his gaze, despite the frightening glow in those amber eyes. "You are right. My dislike for those who think to order me around without being worthy is strong enough to overrule good judgement at times. I should have left the talking to you, or at the very least, I should have asked for your advice before going there."  
  
The honesty in the words surprised Ifan. Certainly, Vlad had not given him the impression of a man prone to admitting mistakes, and perhaps there really was a chance of improvement in the future. So he simply nodded.  
  
"Will they sent someone after us?"  
  
Ifan sighed. "Probably. Though only once Mr Armitage was found himself a secure bolt hole."  
  
"Speaking of people coming after us, what are the chance of the ones your running from finding us and taking action?"  
  
"Not sure about the finding, though they are good at that too. If they find me, action is pretty much a given."  
  
Now it was Vlad who nodded. "It seems we draw in foes like a flame draws moths." He chuckled bitterly. "And now I got us even more. How wonderful."  
  
Ifan smiled grimly. "At least you are quite good at reducing their numbers after building them up. And who knows, maybe they'll start killing each other over the privilege of stabbing us."  
  
Just a few minutes later, Vlad tensed up. "We're being followed."  
  
"Two on the left, three on the right", Ifan confirmed. He too had seen darting shapes in parallel alleys and heard the hectic footsteps.  
  
"And one going over the rooftops to our left, probably an archer."  
  
Ifan had not spotted that one, though he had no reason to doubt the vampire's senses. "Should we turn from prey to hunters?"  
  
Again, there was that frightening smile. "At your signal."  
  
He waited another two minutes, for their pursuers to make a first initial move. When they did, Ifan spun left, snapping his fingers. His magical glove summoned his trusty crossbow to his hands, and while the two rogues hesitated, the weapon shot twice, putting a quarrel in the chest of each man. One fell instantly, the other took another bolt to go down.  
  
A movement in the corner of his eye and a twang was all the warning he got, and Ifan threw himself to the side, avoiding the arrow fired by the archer on the roof. A second arrow followed, then a third, and while Ifan kept dodging, he did not save the time to line up a return shot. A blur to his side told of Vlad being done with his side of the fight.  
  
"Just aim and shoot, I'll keep you safe." Knowing he could hardly dodge forever, Ifan did so, dropping to one knee and taking aim.  
  
He pulled the trigger just as the archer loosened yet a another arrow, aiming right for Ifan's chest. A gloved hand simply plucked it from the air two meters from its mark, while the archer, with no such defense, was caught in the neck by the bolt and crumbled in a spray of blood.

* * *

The new clothes were no particularly good fit, and the cowl was an unwelcome limiter on her field of view, but the disguise was serviceable. Maria quickly made her way through the streets towards the Waymarch garrison. Unwilling to trust her ability to persuade strangers, she waited for chance to break in, skittering up and over on the exterior wall and in through an open window. At this late hour, very few people were still here, and Maria quietly dashed from shadow to shadow, avoiding the few eyes in the corridors. She found the door of Lockwill's office easy enough, but stopped before knocking as she heard voices on the other side. Ryan and Astrid, both speaking in low, sultry tones. Maria sighed and left when she heard the voices first drop to whispers, followed by a low moan.  
  
She spend the next hour silently walking through the dark, unwilling to leave before inquiring about her state with the law, yet as unwilling to intrude upon the privacy of the Lockwills like that. So she snuck through the rest of the largely silent base, noting that it was almost empty. Had there been the regular amount of activity, her infiltration would have been almost impossible, at least inside the office building.  
  
Once about an hour had passed, she headed back to the office and knocked on the door. After several attempts, the door was pulled open, and Maria found herself face to face with a rather annoyed looking Astrid. The northlander woman was sweaty, her hair a mess, clothing obviously hastily thrown on, and her expression went from annoyance to surprise to fear and anger within a second.  
  
"What do you want here?", she snarled, hands forming fists. Behind her, Ryan looked just as messy and now distraught, his hand etching over to the poleaxe leaning against the side of his desk.  
  
"I just want to know in how much trouble with the law I truly am. I never wished to harm you, and that still holds true."  
  
"The judges themselves don't know that, but all guards are supposed to arrest you on sight."  
  
It hurt to hear that, though less than she had first thought. The true pain was the fear in both of their eyes, the fear of the monster lurking within Maria. She quietly nodded her thanks and fled.  
  
  
She was not alone with bad news. Cyril had inquired further and found out that while the justice system was still almost paralyzed by the massacre, the churches linked to that damnable sisterhood had put their own networks on their trail, and thanks to Vlad losing his temper, they could also add some local crime boss to their list of enemies. So after quickly packing their things, they left the city of Bard's Gate that night. Cyril's skill at thieving got them a stagecoach, and when the guards at the gate balked, Vlad simply glared at them and they made way, their minds overruled by the vampire's will. Maria's discomfort with the ability nonwithstanding, is was certainly useful in making their flight go smoothly.  
  
As the coach rumbled over the nightly road, Maria slipped into an uneasy sleep.  
  
The scene within her dream was not one she had ever seen before. She found herself standing in a luxuriously appointed salon, flames crackling in a fireplace. Two armchairs faced that fireplace, and in one of them sat an old man dressed in red who gestured for her to sit. She did not recognize him, but followed the gesture, mostly because she saw little in terms of other options. She knew this was a dream, so she might as well play along.  
  
"Surely, you have a few questions on your mind. Please, ask what you wish to know." It was the voice of a kindly grandfather, and Maria did not buy it for a moment. Her own dreams had not been pleasant in years, though some nightmares had started with a false impression of security. So either this was such a nightmare in disguise, or someone was messing with her mind.  
  
"The obvious one is who you are, and more importantly, whether you are a person or a figment of my own mind, or a splinter of the mind of a vengeful Great One."  
  
"Well thought. I am a projection of the being partially responsible for your presence on this world, a form more suited for talking to humans. Not what you would call a Great One though, as vague and relative as that title is."  
  
Maria blinked. "Assuming that is true, why did you do any of this?"  
  
"Mostly for my own entertainment, mostly. And as an experiment to see if I could pull it off. So far, it went splendidly." His smile widened. "You see, a thing you and von Carstein have in common is that both of you could have achieved much more in your life before had things gone only so slightly differently. You surely know the feeling of looking back and wondering when it all started to go wrong? I think about that often, it makes me curious. What if things were different? A mistake avoided, just a hint of better luck in a crucial moment? I cannot change the past, but I find it most fascinating what people do when given a new shot at existence."  
  
"So this is all a joke to you? Or a play to watch?"  
  
"Something between that and a scientific experiment. Don't be upset about it, you have gotten a lot out of it in exchange for me observing from far away."  
  
As difficult as it was to argue with that logic, again assuming that there was any truth to this preposterous story, Maria did not like the thought of anyone playing god with her life, even if the price seemed generous. She made no effort to hide that. If the old man was of godlike power, there was no point in lying, and there was even less of a point if he was just a dream figure.  
  
"So many possible futures. Would you like to see some of the things that might have been had the cosmic dice fallen differently?"  
  
While her instincts screamed at her about this being a pointless, unknown risk, but that damnable curiosity, the curse on her with no need for Cainhurst blood, had been baited and had bitten down. So she watched with rapt attention as the old man made strange gestures and spoke incomprehensible words, and her view blurred into something else.  



End file.
